


Beautiful Little Pale Flower Mickey Milkovich

by Masterless



Category: Shameless - Fandom
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character appropriate homophobia, Ian is bipolar near the end but it's okay he get medication and stays on it, Ian is hella gay, M/M, Mickey is a cute little shit, Mickey is albino, perhaps a little OOC for both of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3703491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterless/pseuds/Masterless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Milkovich was born with blond hair, pale skin, and pinkie red eyes. He was small for his age, and he always will be. Through bullies at school and at home, Mickey learns to hate himself. But through a particular red haired boy, Mickey learns to love himself and, quite possibly, that red headed little shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beautiful little pale flower

**Author's Note:**

> This in no way is meant to be offensive to anyone. I mean no harm. If I get anything wrong, be it with albinism, or grammar and spelling, please in form me! Thanks you! C:

When he was born, pale and blond haired so different from his older brothers, Michaela Milkovich fell in love. She held her small little son in her arms as he cried, calling for her oldest son, Tony, to get her the phone. She called an ambulance and gathered her three sons to meet their little brother. Tony, Colin, and Iggy came into the room, Tony holding the home phone in his small hand, and crawled up onto the bed, looking at the squirming newborn in their mothers arms.  
“What’cha gonna call him, mommy?” Tony asked, kneeling to get a better look at his brother.  
“Michael,” she said, brushing his thin, soft blond hair back, causing him to squirm more. “Do you like that?”  
“Yeah,” Tony said, while Colin and Iggy just nodded their heads.  
There was a knock on the front door, which Colin went to open, and soon three paramedics walked into the house, taking in the dirt stained walls and carpets. One, a woman, smiled knowingly at Michaela, and wrapped the small boy in a blanket, helped Michaela into a wheelchair, and rolled her out of the house. The other two paramedics, two men, gathered the three boys with them and took them all to the hospital.  
“Ma’am?” the woman asked when they were in the ambulance. “Where’s your husband?”  
“He’s somewhere,” Michaela mumbled, holding her son close to her chest. “Probably at The Alibi. Or with his brothers playing poker somewhere.”  
“Okay, ma’am,” she said. “We’ll try to get in touch with him somehow.”  
They arrived at the hospital in time for the small baby to fall asleep, small pale face relaxing into a sleepy smile. They were rushed inside, and taken to a room off the main entrance. Michaela felt the panic rise up in her chest as the doctor tried to take her son away from her, but they didn’t leave the room, and she could see her smallest son.  
“What’s you name, honey?” one of the nurses asked her.  
“Michaela Milkovich.”  
“Okay, Mrs. Milkovich, we have some good news and some bad news,” the nurse said. “Good news, your baby is going to be fine. There is so much good about this baby.”  
There was a pause.  
“And the bad?” Michaela asked, feeling her heart seize up.  
“Well, it’s not entirely bad,” the nurse rushed to say. “Nothing that will stop him from living a full life. But…” She smiled and turned to hold the baby, bringing it over to Michaela. “You son has albinism.”  
“He’s got what?” she asked, holding her son close to her chest.  
“He’s albino.” The nurse sighed and sat in the chair next to the bed. “He’s got a lack of melanin, which is needed for proper pigmentation of the skin, hair, and eyes. It’s fine, believe me, he’s going to live. You just need to be careful about his skin and eyes. But he’s just as healthy as your other boys. I promise you that.”  
***  
The next day, Michaela was discharged from the hospital, and made her way home with her four boys. Michael was tucked securely in a blanket, a soft hospital hat snug around his little head. His little eyes, pinkish and wide, looked up at her as she smiled down at him. He blinked, and squirmed a little, wiggling his chubby little arms in his blanket. Michaela opened the front door of the house, hoping for silence and peace.  
Her house was the Milkovich house, though, and there was never any silence when Terry was around.  
“Where the fuck have you been?” Terry doesn't say it out of worry, but genuine anger. “Where have you been?”  
“I went to the hospital,” Michaela mumbled, shutting the door and walking into the living room. “I had a baby.”  
Terry stumbled towards her, his breath stinking of cheap beer and abuse. “You fucking what?”  
“I had a baby,” Michaela whispered. “A son.”  
“Is it fucking mine?”  
“Yes.”  
“Good. Better be, bitch.” He took a step back, sitting down in his armchair, draining the last drops of his beer. “What faggy name did you give him?”  
“Michael,” Michaela said. “I named him Michael.”  
Terry snorted, but didn't seem to object. “We’ll call him Mickey.”  
Michaela smiled. “That’s a great idea.”  
“I fucking know it is!”  
Michaela closed her mouth, but her smile didn't falter. Terry liked Michael as a name, and, hopefully, he’d like Mickey as a son.  
But soon her smile dropped.  
“Give him to me.” Terry help out an arm, waving her towards him. “Give me my son.”  
“He, uh…” Michaela swallowed hard, getting up and gently placing her boy in Terry’s arms. “He’s albino.”  
Terry glared up at her, confusion in his grizzled face. “He’s what?”  
“Albino.” Michaela sat down on the arm on the chair, facing away from her husband. “The nurse said it was a lack of colour in his skin, eyes, and hair. That’s why his eyes look…”  
“Why his eyes look what?”  
“Pink,” she whispered. “And his pupils look reddish.”  
Terry was silent as the small baby blinked open its eyes, looking up at the angry man. Mickey scrunched his face, and started to wail. Michaela turned and took her baby, rocking him gently in her arms and shushing him.  
“You better take care of that kid,” Terry mumbled, getting up and racing away.  
***  
Years passed, Michaela had another baby, a girl named Amanda, and soon her youngest son was starting elementary school.  
“Mommy?” Mickey asked one day a week before he started. “What if the other kids don’t like me?”  
Michaela turned to her son. “Mickey. My beautiful little pale flower. There will always be people who don’t like you. But there will always be people who like you, too. And they are the people who matter.”  
“But what if they make fun of me?” Mickey asked.  
“Then you hold your head up high and walk away. Don’t let what they say bother you.”  
“Or,” Terry said, stalking into his youngest son's room to use the bathroom attached to it, “you could beat the shit out of those snot nosed brats, just like I taught you.”  
“But I want people to be friends with me!” Mickey grumbled.  
Michaela held in a breath, but Terry didn't seem to hear.  
“Don’t talk to your father that way,” she whispered to Mickey. “You keep your tone respectful around him.” She sat up straighter, pulling Mickey towards her. “Now. These kids aren't as smart as you, so they will be jealous and being jealous can make you mean. They might say mean things, so you just ignore them, okay?”  
Mickey sighed, but nodded his head, and went to sit on his bed. “You read to me tonight?”  
Michaela smiled. “Of course, sweetie.”  
***  
Mickey hated school. Hated the kids who made fun of him, hated that everyone, even the short kids, was taller than him, hated that he didn't understand anything except math and reading. But the thing he almost hated the most was his teacher, Mr. Browning. Mr. Browning had yelled at him for wearing his special sunglasses inside, even though the fluorescent lights hurt Mickey’s eyes. He yelled at Mickey for reading quicker than everyone else, at Mickey for doing the math problems wrong even when he wasn't doing them wrong, for not sitting with the other kids at lunch.  
But worse than Mr. Browning was the kids in his class.  
They liked him at first. They wanted to know his new kid who wore baggy sweaters in the middle of September, and sunglasses indoors. Some didn't like that about him, they knew dark glasses from their older siblings, who got high behind the high school. All of them, though, wanted to know who he was. There was one blond boy with curly hair who tried to get close at first. Mickey had let him, thinking maybe he’d actually make a friend.  
“Hi, I’m Lip,” he said, holding out a hand as they waited for the doors to open. “What’s your name?”  
“Mickey,” Mickey answered. “Mickey Milkovich.”  
“Cool.” Lip looked him up and down, surveying the young boy. “Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?”  
At that moment, the doors opened and all the children were herded into different classes. Lip ended up in Mickey’s class, a few seats behind Mickey. Mr. Browning stood in the front of the room, standing with the blackboard behind him. He stood by as each student found his or her seat, and stared out at them as they sat. Mickey was in the front row, two seats from the right. Mr. Browning smiled tightly at them, and clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention, which he already had.  
“Now,” he said. “I’m Mr. Browning. Welcome to first grade! We’re going to go around the room and introduce ourselves! Say your name, age, and one thing about yourself.”  
After two students, Mickey zoned out and stared at his hands. His veins were faintly blue under his pale peach skin, his knuckles scraped and slightly bruised. He liked his hands. They were tough looking, like he wanted the rest of him to be. They could withstand the world, unlike his skin and eyes. He picked at him nails, sliding a small scrap of paper from his pocket beneath them, scraping away the dirt.  
“Excuse me!” he heard.  
Looking up, Mickey saw Mr. Browning stood right in front of his desk, hands on his hips and a scowl on his brow.  
“Ah, it seems our friend is finally paying attention!” Mr. Browning smiled cruelly, like Terry would before he hit any of his children. “And what’s your name, little boy?”  
He said it like it was an insult, which, Mickey guessed, it kind of was.  
“Mickey Milkovich.” Mickey looked up defiantly at his teacher.  
“And tell me, Mickey, why are you wearing sunglasses inside my classroom? When there is a rule in the student dress code that says no sunglasses inside.”  
“The lights hurt my eyes,” Mickey mumbled, looking down at his desk.  
“Oh, boo hoo for you,” Mr. Browning said. “Hand them here.”  
“My mom said not to take them off.”  
Mr. Browning put on a mock shocked surprised face. “Oh! Your mom said? Is she here?”  
Mickey shook his head.  
“Does she have any say in my classroom?”  
Another head shake.  
“Then you have to listen to what I say.” Mr. Browning held out a hand. “Glasses. Now.”  
Mickey didn't move to take them off, just looked ahead of him, at Mr. Browning’s legs. Mr. Browning scowled and reached forward, snatching the glasses off Mickey’s face. With a shout of indignation, Mickey grabbed at them, but his short fingers missed the frames my a millimeter. The lights of the room sent a pang of pain through Mickey’s eyes, and then through his head.  
“Give them back!” he yelled glaring at Mr. Browning, who had turned away.  
Mr. Browning whipped around with a furious expression on his face. “Don’t you dare talk to me like…” He saw Mickey glaring at him, pinkie red eyes squinting in the bright overhead lights.  
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” he finished, staring at Mickey. “But, for future occurrences, just tell your teacher that you’re albino, and then they won’t take them.”  
“Give them back!” Mickey yelled again. “Give them back right now!”  
“That’s it, young man!” Mr. Browning said, throwing the glasses back onto Mickey’s desk. One of the lenses cracked. “Out! Into the hallway!”  
“Fuck you!” Mickey yelled, standing up, flipping over his chair, and storming out into the hallway. He did like his brothers told him to do. No one disrespects a Milkovich.  
The next day, no one wanted to talk to Mickey, not even Lip. They were all afraid of catching “the albino”. Mickey wanted to punch every single one of them, but he couldn't. He’d tried to punch Lip, and had gotten a punch back. They both ended up in the nurse with bloody noses. No one wanted to talk to him, because they didn't like him.  
Mickey though the rest of his school life was going to be very lonely.


	2. That Red Headed Little Shit

Mickey was starting the second grade. Well, he was starting first grade for the second time. His disrespect and poor attendance got him held back, and a disappointed look from his mother he still couldn’t get out of his head. He would be in the same grade as Mandy, his little sister. He stood with her in front of the building, sunglasses adorning his face and hood pulled up over his nearly white hair.  
“Welcome back, labrat!” someone yelled at him as he passed.  
“Careful, sis,” one girl said, pulling her little sister closer. “You don’t wanna catch the albino.”  
Mandy skipped along beside him, swinging her hand-me-down lunchbox. “Who are they talking to, Mick?”  
“Me,” he sighed.  
“Because you’re an albininino?”  
“Al-bi-no,” Mickey pronounced. “And yes.”  
“That’s mean.”  
“That’s school.”  
They were let into the building, and Mickey found his way back to Mr. Browning’s room, his old cubby, and his old seat. He sat and looked around him, and found himself being stared at by large, luminous emerald eyes. The boy in front of him had the reddest, curliest hair Mickey had ever seen. It looked like his head was on fire.  
“Can I fucking help you?” Mickey snapped.  
“Are you the albina?” the kid asked.  
“Albi-no,” Mickey corrected angrily. “And so the fuck what?”  
“I think that’s really cool.”  
That threw Mickey for a loop. No one had ever thought that Mickey was cool because of how he looked.  
“Um… thanks?”  
“I’m Ian Gallagher.” The redhead smiled, showing off a missing front tooth.  
“You’re Lip’s little brother,” Mickey said.  
“Yeah.” Ian nodded enthusiastically, his curls bouncing.  
“Your brother’s a piece of shit.”  
“I have heard that a lot.”  
Mickey opened his mouth to continue the conversation, he liked that red headed little shit, but Mr. Browning decided it was time to introduce everyone.  
“Hello, everyone!” he said with a grin. He turned to face Mickey, his smile melting into a smirk. “Hello again, Mickey.”  
Mickey raised an expressive eyebrow, and contemplated flipping his teacher off. He didn’t.  
“Welcome all!” Mr. Browning started, and Mickey knew it was going to be a long day.  
***  
During recess, Mickey went to sit under his tree, just to make sure he didn’t burn in the midday sun. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and willed the day to be over. Soon, though, he felt someone looking at him. Cracking open his left eye, Mickey saw Ian through the dark tinted lense of his glasses.  
“The fuck do you want?” Mickey grumbled, closing his eye again.  
“I was just wondering if you’d like my fruit roll up,” Ian said. “They’re my favourite, so I thought maybe you’d like it, too.”  
Mickey opened both eyes to look up at the strange red haired boy. He nodded, and held out his hand. “You wanna sit with me?”  
Ian nodded vigorously, plopping down next to Mickey in the shade. He handed Mickey the fruit snack, crossing his legs beneath him. Mickey opened his new treat, tearing it in half and handing one side to Ian.  
“Why do you like me?” Mickey asked.  
“Because I think you’re badass,” Ian said.  
“And because I look funny?”  
Ian shook his head, taking a bite from his fruit roll up. “I don’t think you look funny. You look different, but not funny.”  
“Bad different?” No matter how Mickey acted, he would always be self conscious about how he looked.  
“Nothing is ever a bad different.” Ian pointed to his head. “People make fun of me because of my hair. Because I’m different.”  
“Your different is better than my different.” Mickey leaned back against his tree. “Your different is more common.”  
“But people still make fun of me because of it.” Ian shook his head. “That’s why I like gay people.”  
“The fuck did that come from?” Mickey asked, completely thrown for a loop. “Gays?”  
“Yeah,” Ian mumbled. “They get beat up because of something they can’t change, and so do I.”  
“You’ve been beat up because of your hair?” Mickey leaned forward, tipping his sunglasses down to look at Ian directly. “BEcause you’re ginger?”  
“Yep.” Ian shrugged. “I don’t mind much. They have problems if they need to take out their anger on a first grader.”  
“I’ll protect you.” Mickey held out a pale hand, which Ian took and shook.  
“I’ve never had a real friend before,” Ian said, grinning.  
“I’ve never had a friend before.” Mickey patted the grass next to him, and Ian jumped to sit there. “You and me, Red. We’ll be a good team.”  
“Like Pinkie and the Brain!”  
Mickey squinted at him. “I better be the fucking Brain, or I’m gonna take that as an offense.”  
“Of course.”  
***  
“I think,” Mickey said, nine years, three months, and four days later. “That you are a piece of shit, who doesn’t deserve the greatness of my friendship.”  
Ian laughed, leaning his back against Mickey’s shoulder. His whole body shook when he laughed, and Mickey had always felt so proud of himself when he induced a full body roll laugh from his best friend. Ian rested his head on Mickey’s shoulder, smiling at the other boy.  
“I don’t, you know?” he said. “You’re great. And I truly don’t deserve you. But you stick with me for some reason.”  
Mickey shifted on his bed slightly, uncomfortable. He hated it when Ian praised him. Didn’t Ian see that he was the good one? That he was the one that deserved more? Mickey knew that he had a crush on Ian before he knew what a crush was. He wanted to be with the redhead all the time, and seeing him caused butterflies to flutter in his stomach.  
Ian turned to face him and ran a hand affectionately through Mickey’s pale hair. “You’ll be fifteen in three days.” He smiled. “And I’ll still be thirteen, slowly wading through freshman year at the bottom of the age line, nearly still an eighth grader.”  
Mickey snorted and gave his friend a shove. “You’re a dork.”  
“I am not a blue whales dick!” Ian laughed. “I am not!”  
“You’re such a nerd!” Mickey said, pushing him over onto the the dirty red cover of Mickey’s bed. “Only a nerd knows that a whales dick is called a dork, and you’re a nerd!”  
“You know it, too,” Ian pointed out. “Does that make you a nerd?”  
“I’m a nerd by association.”  
The door to Mickey’s room swung open, and Mickey’s hand twitched towards his sunglasses. Seeing it was only Iggy, Mickey sighed and let his hand drop back to his lap. If it had been Terry, Mickey would have snatched the glasses up and shoved them on his face. Mickey knew all too well that Terry didn’t like Mickey’s eyes.  
Iggy nodded to Ian, and turned to his little brother. “Yo, you up to do a run with me tonight?”  
“Ah, Ian was gonna stay over,” Mickey said. “But maybe tomorrow?”  
“Nah, we ain’t got a run tomorrow.” Iggy shook his head. “You gonna hang out here tonight?”  
“Yeah,” Mickey said, guarded. “What’s it to you?”  
“Dad’s here.” Iggy shook his head, leaning against the door frame. “You gonna keep those glasses on all night?”  
“If I have to.”  
“We can stay at my house,” Ian interjected. “Fiona wouldn’t mind.”  
Mickey nodded. “Yeah. Just let me get my stuff, okay?”  
Iggy nodded again, turning to leave. “Whatever you guys do tonight, don’t forget to use a condom!” he threw over his shoulder.  
“Shut the fuck up!” Mickey yelled, face going red.  
Ian chuckled hollowly next to him. Mickey glanced at his friend to find his face just as red. Mickey stood and gathered up some overnight stuff, and they headed to the Gallagher household. Mickey liked it there. Fiona was the closest thing to a mom he’d had since his own mother had died, and Ian’s siblings, with the exception of Lip, were all nice and accepting. Lip was still an ass, but somethings never change.  
As the door opened, the two boys were greeted by an unusual silence. There was no way the Gallagher’s would be this quiet.  
“Hello?” Ian shouted.  
There was no reply.  
“Huh,” Ian said. “I thought that at least Fiona’d be here.”  
“Well,” Mickey mused. “Now we have to house to ourselves.”  
“Oh, yeah,” Ian said, catching on. “You wanna…?”  
Mickey smirked, and they both launched at each other, grabbing arms and shoulders. Mickey pushed Ian onto the couch, straddling him and pinning him under Mickey’s weight. Ian laughed and flipped them over, falling onto the floor in a rush of clothes and energy. There was a heart stopping moment when Mickey’s head came very close to bashing on the coffee table, but tragedy was avoided when Ian pulled him closer. Mickey was yet again on top of Ian, and he grinned evilly down at the other boy. Mickey loved wrestling with Ian. It gave him an opportunity, and an excuse, to touch Ian’s body, feel the hard curve of muscle beneath his skin.  
Mickey’s laugh of triumph was cut off when he felt something against his leg, a something he had only dreamed of feeling before. He looked down at Ian’s flushed face, his eyes blown wide glazed over with something Mickey didn’t dare to call lust. He propped himself up on his hands and knees, glancing down. Ian was definitely hard in his jeans, breathing heavily from exertion and maybe something else. Hope? Nerves? Mickey didn’t know.  
“I, uh…” Ian mumbled, following Mickey’s eyes. “I’m sorry…”  
Mickey looked back at Ian’s face, unsure of what to do. One part of him wanted to kiss that stupid redhead, another wanted to run, and a third part wanted to punch Ian in the face and yell at him for being such a fag. He just stared down at Ian, whose face was slowly turning more and more red.  
“I’m so sorry,” he said, brow furrowing with worry. “I didn’t mean… I…”  
Mickey plucked up his courage, leaned down, and planted a rather inexperienced kiss on Ian’s lips. Ian went stiff (well, the rest of his body, anyway) with shock, but melted into the kiss, placing a hand on the back of Mickey’s neck, fingers carding through white blond locks. Mickey felt a shiver run down his back, pooling at the base of his spine. Ian grinned against his lips, bucking his hips against Mickey’s, who realized that he, too, was reacting more than romantically to the situation.  
There was a loud bang as the door swung open, hitting the wall, and a cacophony of laughter and voices as Vee and Fiona walked into the door, each holding five shopping bags. Mickey and Ian sprang apart, Mickey banging his head on the coffee table this time.  
“Oh, hi, Mick!” Fiona said with a laugh. She frowned as Ian sat up, his face very red. “Guys, were you wrestling again? You know I don’t like you doing that! One of you could get hurt!”  
Ian looked at Mickey, who was trying not to look at him. It was definitely something they had to talk about.


	3. Mickey, Just Admit It.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is kind of poopy, it's late and I'm not feeling all that good. Also, this chapter was originally going to be called "What is love? Baby don't hurt me," but I felt it was too cheesy. If you'd like me to change it back, please tell me, and I probably will!

Mickey woke up with a pounding headache, a feeling of dread, and a warm hand resting heavily on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw Ian’s arm had fallen off the bed and had conveniently landed on Mickey. He found it oddly comforting to have Ian touch him, to have the redheads presence near him. There was something about Ian that no one else could give him, a sense of security. Mickey liked that.  
Mickey sat up, holding Ian’s hand in his own, and up looked up at the ginger. His face was peaceful, features soft and delicate. There was a faint spray of freckles over the bridge of Ian’s nose, splayed across his cheekbones. They had faded over the years, just as Ian’s hair had gotten darker the longer it got. It tended to hang over Ian’s forehead and eyes now, moved out of the emerald eyes with a rather gay flick of the rist. Mickey was surprised he hadn’t suspected Ian before the night before. They hadn’t really gotten to talk about it with the entire Gallagher tribe running this way and that.  
Ian’s fingers flexed, and green eyes opened blearily to lock with Mickey’s.  
“Hey,” Ian said, sleep slurred and dry throated.  
“Hi,” Mickey replied.  
“So.” Ian looked down at his hand which Mickey was still holding. “You wanna do this?”  
Mickey removed his hand. “Do what?”  
“Do you wanna be my boyfriend?” Ian smiled.  
“I ain’t gay.” Mickey stood, and shuffled to the bathroom to relieve himself.  
Ian scrambled to follow, brow furrowed in a look of confusion. “Really? Because I can recall a very gay situation between us just last night.”  
Mickey glared at Ian’s reflection. “You think cuz I let you grind against my leg and kiss me a little I’ma go full out fag and be you’re fucking boyfriend?” He turned to look at Ian, his best friend, and felt his heart break at the look of pain and betrayal on that handsome face. “Think again, Gallagher.”  
“You’re a dick,” Ian spat. “You let me do that stuff?” He let out a bark of a laugh. “Like you didn’t want to go the whole way. Like you didn’t kiss me first.” He took a step further into the bathroom, pushing the door closed behind him. He strode towards Mickey, who put a hand up to keep the ginger at an arms length away. “Like you don’t want to do it again?”  
Mickey smirked, hating himself every step of the way. “Fuck you.”  
Ian stepped back, a look of utter disbelief on his face. “Really? You’re really being like this? Mickey, I’m gay. You’re gay. We like each other. Let’s be together!”  
“Fuck you,” Mickey repeated.  
“Is this because of your dad?”  
Mickey tensed. “You don’t know a thing about my dad.”  
“I know he’s a dick.” Ian moved towards Mickey again, resting his hands on Mickey’s shoulders. “Mickey. Your dad is an evil, psychotic prick, you’re just going to let him ruin your life?”  
Mickey jolted Ian away, hands connecting with solid muscle. “You don’t know a thing about my dad!” He felt like a broken record.  
“Mickey.” Ian took hold of Mickey’s hands, pulling them towards him and resting them against his chest. “Mickey, you don't have to do this. You don’t have to be out in public, you don’t have to be out to my family, even, just be out to yourself and me! Just be okay with who you are. You’re gay, and you have feelings for me.” Ian smiled, crowding into Mickey’s space even more. “Just admit it.”  
Ian’s face was so close to his own, and Mickey was distracted for a second by the heat coming from the redhead. When had he gotten so tall? Why was he looking at him like that? Mickey flicked his eyes down to Ian’s lips, and Ian took the opportunity to kiss him again. Mickey let him, lips soft and responding, but his brain went into hyper drive, thoughts flooding his synapses, anxiety filling him from the feet up. He pushed out harshly again, causing Ian to stumble.  
Mickey rushed passed him, throwing open the door and running into Ian’s room to grab his things. He gathered them, stuffing his shirt and pants from the day before into the bag before all but leaping down the stairs and to the door. He heard Ian following him, felt him grip Mickey’s wrist right before he opened the door.  
Fiona looked on in confusion from the kitchen. “Boys?”  
“Mickey,” Ian said. “Stay. Please, we need to talk about this.”  
Mickey yanked his arm away, reeled back, and punched Ian square in the jaw. “And keep your fucking hands off me, you faggot!”  
He was out the door before he could hear Fiona’s gasp, before he could hear Ian call his name, but not before he felt his heart and the only place he’d been able to call home recently shatter to pieces around his ears.  
***  
Mickey was sat on his bed in the corner, gasping for breath and counting backwards from two thousand in his head. He’d done it four times, counted down to zero for over eight thousand repeated numbers, tried to still the furious beating of his heart, tried to stop the flow of fresh tears streaking down his face. He had the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes, fingers gripping tightly into his platinum hair.  
He heard the door bang closed to his room, and heard the shuffle of feet towards his bed. His heart sped up even more, his eyes stung even harder, and his breathing came out even more ragged as he peek through his fingers at Iggy.  
“Yo, you okay?” he asked, sitting down and placing a hand on his little brothers shoulder.  
“Ian’s gay,” Mickey blurted, tears threatening to close up his throat again. “And I don’t know how to…” Deal with my own feelings, Mickey thought.  
Iggy nodded. “You don’t know how to react to it.” Iggy sighed. “Gays ain’t all bad. Dad’s full of shit, Mick.” He eyed Mickey, blue-grey eyes searching. “You’re upset because you think he likes you?” There was a pause. “Or because you like him back?”  
Mickey’s face must have given it away, because Iggy started to nod again, but he didn’t remove his hand from Mickey’s shoulder.  
“Bro.” Iggy smiled. “I don’t give a fuck who you bang. Just don’t do it in my bed, and I’m cool.” His smile dropped. “And don’t tell dad.”  
Mickey nodded. “I’m not an idiot. What, you think he’ll accept me, his albino son, if he knew he might be a fa… gay?”  
“Yeah, not really.” Iggy chuckled. “But, me and Colin and Tony? We got your back, Mick. Mandy, too.”  
“I kinda… punched Ian.”  
Iggy smacked him upside the head. “What’d you do that for?”  
Mickey rubbed a hand across his eyes, sniffing. “I got freaked. I had to get out of there and he wanted to talk. I don’t… want to be gay.”  
“I don’t think anybody wants to be gay.” Iggy shifted to a seat on the floor, resting his arms on his knees. “I just think they are.”  
“You’re full of wisdom,” Mickey deadpanned.  
“I know, bro.” Iggy stood, stretching his back. “Go talk to your boyfriend.”  
Mickey nodded, and watched his brother walk away. Picking up his phone, Mickey called Ian, holding the phone to his ear. He sniffled some more, slightly ashamed of himself for bawling like a baby over what had happened. He’s a Milkovich. He toughens up, takes it like a man. Maybe this was another thing to make him different from the rest of the Milkovich’s. Maybe this was another thing to make him feel isolated. Maybe this-  
“Hello?” Ian’s voice sounded like he had been crying, too.  
“Hey,” Mickey said. “Listen, I’m sorry. I-”  
“Oh, now you want to talk about it?” Ian snapped. “Now I’m not in punching distance?”  
Mickey was silent. He deserved it. He knew he did.  
“Mickey?” Ian sounded worried now. “Please, just… are you still there?”  
“Yeah, I’m here.”  
“I still want us to be friends. I don’t want to lose you, even if I can’t have you as my boyfriend.”  
Mickey smiled, even though Ian couldn’t see. “That’s the thing.”  
“What?”  
“I kind of want to try it. Maybe. Not in front of anyone, or anything, but, like. With you.”  
Ian was quiet, his breathing huffing into the microphone on his cell. “Really?”  
“Not, like, fucking fruity stuff, like holding hands and all that shit on Queer as Folk, but, yeah. Watching TV and shit. Being with you. Kissing. I wouldn’t mind doing that again.”  
He could fucking hear Ian smile down the phone. “Okay.” He sighed. “You’ve, uh… You’ve kind of been banned from the house for a few weeks. Because of the punch. And I might or might not have a black eyes.”  
“I’m sorry,” Mickey said again, his eyes drying up and his heart slowing down. “Can you come over to mine?”  
“Sure!” Ian said. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a few?”  
“See you in a few.”  
Mickey hung up, went to make the customary pizza rolls, high fived Iggy- who, even though he would never say it, was listening at Mickey’s door to make sure he didn’t mess everything up-, and set up Double Impact on the Blu-ray player. He knew he needed to grovel a little to Ian, and his favourite movie should definitely help along with the effort.


	4. It’s Been A While, and Mickey and Ian are Super Gay

They had been together for a while, and Mickey decided he was super fucking gay. Not in the limp wristed, hot pink wearing way that his dad beat up, but in the manly, but still likes to take it up the ass, kind of way. Not that Mickey had anything against the more stereotypical gays, but he just didn’t fit that bill. He loved taking it up the ass, and while he would never admit it, he loved snuggling with Ian in the morning. The Gallagher’s had grown accustomed to seeing them together, sat a little too close at the beginning, and then literally sitting on top of each other.  
After two weeks of trying to get back in Fiona’s good books, Mickey was allowed back into the Gallagher household, and back into Ian’s arms and embrace. It took him a while to get used to Fiona being so okay with his and Ian’s relationship, but he loved being able to be with Ian in (semi)public. He thought that he might even be in love with Ian.  
The next hurdle for Mickey was his family. He told Mandy, and drew the line at her and Iggy knowing. He felt it was too much for them to even know, but grew to love being open with them, too. Mandy and Ian were best friends, and it kind of pissed Mickey off, but he never knew why. It prickled under his skin like a rash, and made him want to punch something. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Ian to have other friends, Ian had lots of friends, and they didn’t bother Mickey. It was something to do with Mandy.  
He and Ian were sprawled across the couch one afternoon at the Gallagher house, watching TV and eating pizza bagels, when Mandy barged into the house.  
“Do you ever knock?” Mickey grumbled.  
“They never lock the door,” Mandy snapped back. “Dad’s home, and he’s already drunk. I needed a place to crash.”  
“Why could you go to aunt Ronnie’s?”  
“Because she’s in the hospital, getting her kidney removed!” Mandy scowled at him, pushing him over so she could lean against Ian.  
“Hey, bitch!” Mickey shoved her arm, but crossed his arms and leaned the other way.  
“Oh-kay,” Ian said, sitting up. “How about his? I sit in the middle, and you can both lean on me?”  
Mandy nodded, but Mickey scowled angrily, got up, and walked to the kitchen. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, gulping down the cold bitter drink. It stung the back of his throat, but he had gotten used to it years ago. Mickey burped loudly, and hopped up to sit on the counter space. He stared at the can in his hands, flexing his inked fingers.  
“Fuck you up indeed,” he mumbled to himself.  
He heard Mandy grumble from the living room, heard Ian go, “No, Mandy, I’m going,” and looked up to see his boyfriend - he loved calling Ian that - come into the room. He came to stand between Mickey’s legs, hands on his hips, smiling softly as he rested their foreheads together. Ian looked into Mickey’s eyes, the eyes that caused Mickey shame and discomfort, and could only see that they were beautiful. He loved every aspect of Mickey, from the nearly white colour of his to his pale peach skin, from his soft stomach to his hard knuckles. He loved everything about Mickey.  
“Hey,” he said, thumbs stroking absentmindedly. “What’s up?”  
“What do you mean?” Mickey asked innocently.  
“Mandy came to sit with us and you stalked off.” Ian placed a soft kiss on Mickey’s cheek, and leaned back a little to get a better look at Mickey’s face.  
“I don’t know, man.” Mickey shifted uncomfortably. “I just wanted to spend the day with you. You know? And now she’s here.”  
Ian raised and eyebrow, smirking. “You don’t want to share your boyfriend with your sister?”  
“No,” Mickey said seriously. “No, I don’t.”  
Ian stopped with his smirk, worry etched onto his face. “Why?”  
“Because for as long as I can remember, I’ve never had anything that’s mine. I finally get something that’s mine, not that you’re a thing or my possession, but I have you, and then suddenly, it’s not just mine. I don’t care that you have other friends, it’s just… Mandy.”  
“I can hear you, you know!” she called from the living room. “And fine, I’ll just stay at home next time, let dad-” She cut off. “Just. Fuck you, Mickey.”  
“Mandy,” Mickey sighed, hoping down from the counter. He walked into the living room, and stood looking at him little sister. “You have other friends, too, couldn’t you have gone to theirs? You knew that I was hanging with Ian today.”  
“You’re always hanging with Ian!” Mandy stood and faced her brother, the tension in the air thick between them. “I want to hang out with my best friend sometimes, too, you know! I want to hang out with him and you, but you’re too much of a dick to see that!”  
“You hang out with us all the time, Mandy!” Mickey snapped. “You are always there! And you’re my sister, and I like you, but I want some time to just be with my boyfriend! I don't want to share this with you like everything else in my life!”  
“Like what?” Mandy raised her eyebrows in a mock expression of confusion. “Your room you don’t share? The bed you don’t share? The books, clothes, games, life you don’t share? All that stuff?”  
“All of my clothes are hand me downs, all of my books were either owned by our brothers or stolen from the library, none of those games are mine, Ian sleeps with me, our fucking brothers are in the house with us, I have nothing of my own!” Mickey was going red in the face, blood rushing to his cheeks. “I have never shared anything! I have three older brothers, our father is always taking our things, you are always taking my shit, I never got to have anything of my own! Is it too much to ask that once in my fucking life I want something of my own that isn't my moth-”  
There was a pregnant pause.  
“That isn’t mom?” Mandy finished softly. “I got mom, too.”  
“I just wanted her to be there for only me for once.” Mickey sat down on the couch, heels of his palms digging into his eyes. “I just… I miss her, and she was the only thing I didn't like sharing, and now she’s gone for good. Then Ian and I started dating, and it felt like that again. So screw me for wanting something of my own.”  
Ian sat next to Mickey, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Mickey, I’m flattered, really I am. But I don’t want to be the rift between you two. And I can choose for myself to have other friends.”  
“I don't care if you have other friends.”  
Mandy scoffed, but didn’t say anything after getting a death glare from Ian.  
“Mick, just say you’re sorry for yelling at Mandy, and we can get over this.”  
“I ain’t sorry.” Mickey shook his head. “That has been inside of me for far too long, and I just wanted to get it out. I didn’t mean to eyll at you about it, but I… just. I don’t know anymore.”  
“You can share me,” Ian said. “Mickey gets me on nights and during the weekends, Mandy gets me sure the days of the school week. She can come over during Mickey’s time or emergencies, and Mickey can come over during Mandy’s time for the same reasons.”  
“Fuck that,” Mandy said. “You’re just gonna have to get used to sharing your boyfriend, okay, Mickey?”  
Mickey shrugged.  
“We cool?” Mandy asked.  
“Yeah, we’re cool.”  
***  
Things between the two were less than cool for a few days, but they settled down soon after. Mandy didn’t try to squeeze between them anymore, and Mickey tried not to get so angry at Mandy for her being there.  
It was late one night when Mickey nearly snapped at her again. He and Ian had plans that night. Plan plans. Butt plans. Gay butt plans. They really wanted to fuck. And Mandy was still there, chatting on about some bimbo at the waffle house she works at.  
“...and so I said, ‘You can’t use my eyeliner if you have pink eye,’ so she was like, ‘Well then, I guess we’re not friends anymore,’... Are you guys even listening?”  
Mickey had been so caught up in the whole “I want my sister to fuck off so I can fuck my boyfriend” thought process he hadn’t even realized Ian wasn’t paying attention, either.  
“No, sorry,” Ian said. “Late night last night.”  
“Oh.” Mandy didn’t seem all that put off. “Well, anyway, I was-”  
“Mands,” Ian interrupted. “Would you mind doing me a favour?”  
“Sure, what?”  
“Can we continue this conversation tomorrow? It’s just, it’s late and I want to get to sleep, and I have to get up early tomorrow. You know.”  
Mandy looked entirely unimpressed. “Yes, I will leave so you can fuck my brother.”  
She stood, stretched, gathered her coat, and was out the door without a hug and a goodbye.  
Mickey leaned closer to Ian, breath hot on his neck. “Soooooo. What now?”  
Ian pounced. He trapped Mickey beneath the weight of his body, grinding his pelvis down on Mickey’s.  
“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be walking funny for days,” he growled, nipping at Mickey’s ear.  
And, of he did.


	5. Let’s Go to the Beach-each, Let’s Go Get Away!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I've only ever written smut once before, and I'm not too good at it.

They had been dating for three years. Ian was seventeen, in his junior year of high school. Mickey had long since dropped out, after being sent to juvie for the second time, and had gotten a stable enough job at the Kash and Grab with Ian. Mickey had spent a long time getting the owners husband, Kash, to stop perving on Ian, and was happy that Ian was safe at work without him. Kash kept his distance.  
There was so many great things about Ian, and Mickey couldn’t blame Kash for being attracted to him. Mickey still was completely out to the world. All his brothers knew, Mandy knew, all the Gallagher’s knew, and the Gallagher’s neighbours, Veronica and Kevin Ball, they knew. He was slightly freaked out that none of them seemed to give a fuck, but happy, too. He still had the nagging fear in the back of him mind that his father would find out, but he forgot that whenever he was with Ian.  
He loved his life. He stayed most nights at Ian’s, spent most of his time with Ian, and he was pretty sure that he fucking loved Ian. He felt he might be a little clingy, though.  
“Am I too clingy?” he asked suddenly one day.  
They were laid in Ian’s bed, Mickey resting his head on Ian’s bare chest. His blanket was pulled up over them, legs tangled together. They had just had slow, soft, morning sex, which was a new thing to them.  
“No,” Ian said, running a hand up Mickey’s arm. His hair caught the early morning light, turning it golden. Ian loved every shade of Mickey. “I love spending time with you.”  
“You don’t think I spend too much time with you?”  
“Nah,” Ian said, turning his hand to look down at Mickey. “I would hate it if you were constantly bugging me, but hanging out with you is good. You’re not always asking me how I am, or where I am, or who I’m with. It’s nice.”  
Mickey nodded, yawning. “Can we get more sleep now?”  
Ian groaned, flapping his arms around. “But we’re going to the beach todaaaaaaaaaayyyyyy!”  
“Ian,” Mickey sighed. “I can’t go to the beach. I burn to a crisp in under a minute.”  
“We have SPF, like, one thousand, and a beach umbrella.” Ian sat up, pulling Mickey out of the bed my his arms. “We’re going to the beach!”  
“Ian, no.” Mickey let himself be pulled, though.  
“Don’t make me start singing Nicki Minaj.”  
Mickey leapt to his feet, pushing Ian towards the bathroom door. “Come on, Ian, we’re going to the beach!”  
Ian cackled, hands over his stomach. “Wait, we have to put some boxers on, my family doesn’t need to see our pale asses this early in the morning!”  
Mickey stopped. He knew Ian didn’t mean to pick on Mickey, but it still stung. Mickey stood by the bed, frowning at his feet.  
"Hey, I didn't mean anything by that," Ian said. "You know I didn't."  
"Yeah," Mickey said. "I know."  
Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey, kissing the top of his head. "Come on. Let's go smother you in sunblock and go to the beach."  
***  
Ian was acting strange, Mickey thought. He was still happy and all that, but he seemed more energetic. He bounced all the way to the beach, chattering on and on about everything and nothing. He leaned against Mickey, kissing his cheek, and nuzzling his nose against Mickey's neck.  
"What are you doing?" Mickey asked.  
"You're my boyfriend," Ian said. "I wanna kiss you."  
Mickey raised an eyebrow, staring at Ian. "You don't normally do this to show affection."  
"There's more that i wanna do," Ian said with a smirk.  
"Ian, there are other people in this car," Fiona warned. "Don't try to fuck your boyfriend while the rest of us are here."  
Ian sighed and leaned against the window. He was silent for all of two minutes. He leaned over to Mickey, kissed his jaw, and rested his chin on Mickey's shoulder.  
"You wanna sneak off to the bathroom when we get there?" he whispered.  
Mickey smirked, leaning his head against Ian’s. “If you want.”  
Ian placed his hand on Mickey’s thigh, rubbing it up and down. He kissed down Mickey’s neck at his awkward angle, biting and licking at the soft skin.  
“Ian!” Debbie squealed as Mickey was accidentally pushed into her. “Do you mind?”  
He leaned back again, smiling, palming Mickey through his shorts. Though he didn’t want to, Mickey swatted Ian’s hand away, and smiled to himself.  
“Would you two just wait till we get to the beach?” Fiona asked. “Just be glad Kev is driving his truck and all nine of us aren’t in the same car!”  
“That would suck,” Lip mumbled from the passenger seat.  
“Mickey could sit in my lap!” Ian said, smiling evilly. “I wouldn’t mind.”  
“Ian, get your mind out of the gutter.”  
He laughed, fully and bodily, as they pulled into the beach car park. They all got out of the car, pulling on hats and sunglasses. Mickey pulled the visor of his hat down low over his face, shielding his delicate skin from the harmful sun rays. Ian grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the bathrooms.  
“Come on,” he said, laughing. “We can change in here.”  
“Change or fuck?” Mickey asked.  
“A little of both.”  
Mickey followed Ian happily into the bathroom, which smelt of brine and sand. Ian pushed him into the disabled’s, locking the door behind him. There was a moment of stillness before Ian pounced, attacking Mickey’s lips with his own. Mickey stumbled back against the wall, moaning as Ian slipped his hand down Mickey’s shorts, groping Mickey’s ass. Mickey gasped as he felt Ian graze over his entrance, placing his own hands on the back on Ian’s neck.  
“Fuck me,” he panted against Ian’s neck, latching onto the pale expanse of skin with his teeth. He sucked a dark red mark as Ian worked one, then two, then three fingers inside of Mickey, grazing against that special spot that made Mickey mewl like a cat in heat. He threw his head back in pleasure, fingers carding through Ian’s copper locks. “Oh, f-fuck.”  
Ian chuckled, pulling his hand from Mickey’s shorts. Mickey whined at the loss of feeling, but smirked as Ian pushed down his shorts and turned him around. He heard Ian’s zip go down, and the soft rustle of cloth of the floor. Ian kissed the back of Mickey’s neck, fingers slowly probing him again. He bent away from Mickey to pick dig a packet of lube out of his pocket.  
“Well,” Mickey mused breathlessly. “Someone came prepared.”  
“It’s me and you, Mick,” Ian retorted. “Did you really think I wouldn’t?”  
“No.”  
Mickey heard Ian rip the packet open, heard him stroke it over his hardened dick. Ian pushed himself slowly into Mickey, who dropped his head down between his arms, which were propped against the wall. He moaned out slowly, rocking his hips back against Ian. When Ian’s hips were flush against Mickey’s ass, he pulled back slowly, then snapped his hips forwards quickly, drawing a gasp and a groan from Mickey.  
“Fuck,” Mickey moaned. “Do that again.”  
Ian did. Again and again, he snapped his hips forward, then slowly back, just to repeat it again. He smirked at the fact that Mickey wasn’t touching himself, just stood against the wall, moaning, legs shaking. Ian ran his hands up Mickey’s back under his shirt, relishing in the feeling of Mickey shuddering under his touch.  
Mickey felt heat pooling in his lower back, felt his balls tighten. “Fuck.” Mickey reached back and placed a hand on Ian’s hip, urging him faster. “I’m gonna come…”  
“Come for me, Mick,” Ian panted. “I wanna see you come…”  
Ian pulled out, making Mickey whine again. Ian turned him around, lifting his legs so they’d wrap around his waist. Ian thrust him again, watching Mickey squirm as he held onto the handle on the wall. Mickey came with a shuddering gasp, hot ropes of come splattering onto his stomach and shirt. Ian smirked, and pounded faster into Mickey. He came soon after, filling Mickey with his seed. Letting Mickey down, Ian grinned smugly.  
They heard the guy in the next stall cough awkwardly, flush his toilet, and leave. The two teens burst out laughing.  
“That was fun,” Mickey said, wiping his stomach and ass with some toilet paper. “We should do that again sometime.”  
Ian grinned again. “Of course.”  
They got cleaned up and changed, slathering on more sunblock, and flushing their “clean-up” tissues down the drain. Ian grabbed the sunglasses from Mickey’s hand, put them on, and dashed out the door.  
“Ian!” Mickey chuckled, running after him.  
He pushed open the door, stepped into the bright sunlight, and a flash of pain seared through his skull. He let out an involuntary shout of pain, covering his eyes. He heard Ian’s laughter stop abruptly, and then felt strong hands moving him back into the shade.  
“Mickey?” Ian’s voice was quiet and calm, but worried. “Mickey, what happened?”  
“The light hurts my eyes,” Mickey said, rubbing at them. “You know that. With the whole albino thing?”  
Ian grimaced, and handed the sunglasses back. “I forgot for a second. Thought it’d be funny.”  
“Well, it was for all of three seconds.” Mickey arranged the glasses on his face, and squinted up at Ian. “How the fuck do you forget? You forget you have my ugly mug looking up at you everyday?”  
Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. “You’re not ugly. You’re beautiful.”  
“No,” Mickey said, nuzzling his nose into Ian’s neck. “I’m a freak.”  
“Don’t think like that,” Ian reprimanded softly.  
Mickey nodded, but didn’t listen. “Come on. Let’s go sit under the shade of your stupid ass umbrella.”  
“Ella,” Ian sang.  
“What?”  
“It’s… it’s a song…” Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand, swinging their interlocked fingers as they walked down to the beach. The Gallagher-Ball gang had set up in the middle of the beach, not close enough to the water that they’d have to move back when the tide came in, but close enough that the walk wasn’t very long. There was an umbrella set up, under which Fiona and Vee were sat.  
“I’m sat with the girls?” Mickey asked, raising an eyebrow at Ian.  
“They’ll move,” Ian placated.  
They made their way over to the umbrella, sitting down on the corner of the blanket set out. Vee grinned unabashedly at the dark marks on both of their necks, and at Ian’s rippling muscles. Mickey had decided to wear a shirt, so he wouldn't have to use up that much sunblock.  
“Where’ve you two been?” Fiona asked, grabbing Liam as he ran by her. “No, don’t answer that, I saw how you were in the car.”  
Ian smiled innocently at his older sister, then asked sweetly, “Do you think you could move over a little? It’s just, my boyfriend and delicate skin, and burns very easily.” Mickey punched Ian in the arm, hard. He hated people commenting on his skin, or hair, or eyes, even if they had known his for as long as Ian had known him. “Ow, Mick, what the fuck was that for?”  
“Shut up about my skin, man,” Mickey mumbled, rubbing a hand over the spot he’d punched. “Just go swim, dick breath.”  
Ian huffed an angry breath, but did as Mickey told and went to swim. Vee and Fiona both budged over to give him the best shade, and Fiona patted his arm.  
“Ian loves you,” she said, making Mickey rather uncomfortable. “Just, lately, his brain-mouth filter has been off center a little.”  
“No kidding,” Mickey grumbled.  
He spent the next half hour sitting in the shade with the ladies, Ian occasionally yelling at him to join them in the water. Mickey waved him off, not really wanting to be out in the sun anymore than he had already been. If truth be told, Mickey did want to join Ian, but was too afraid his glasses would fall off, or the sunblock would be washed off. Too many things could go wrong, and Mickey would rather not take the risk.  
“What’s up, baby?” Vee asked him. “You’re man wants you to swim.”  
“I don’t really want to swim,” Mickey lied. “It’s probably too cold.”  
“You’re worried about something,” Fiona said. “Something to do with your skin. Or your eyes.”  
“Yes, I’m fucking albino, get over it,” Mickey snarled, and then hung his head between his knees. “Sorry.”  
“It’s fine,” Vee said, running a hand up and down his back. “You shouldn’t be worried, baby, if anyone looks at you weird, you’ve got Ian, Kev, Carl, and Debbie out in the water who’ll back you up.”  
“Hey, what about Lip?” Fiona asked.  
“Oh, Lip hates his ass.”  
Mickey nodded. “Hasn’t thought I was good enough for Ian since second grade.”  
Fiona shook her head. “I’m gonna have words with him.”  
Mickey chuckled, smiling as he saw Ian, water dripping and sparkling on his chest, come up to sit with them. He sat behind Mickey, wrapping long arms and legs around Mickey.  
“Come swim,” Ian murmured against the back of Mickey’s head. “Please?”  
“I’ll burn,” Mickey muttered, leaning back in spite of himself.  
Ian knew he was lucky just to have Mickey be this open with him. He decided not to push it. Not yet. Instead, he scooted closer, pushing his crotch against Mickey’s bum. Mickey’s eyes widened, and he twisted around to look at Ian dead in the eyes. Ian’s pupils were blown, a light blush on his cheeks. He raised his eyebrows seductively and smirked.  
“Wanna head back to the bathroom?” Ian whispered. “Continue where we left off?”  
“Again?” Mickey asked. “No, I don’t want to get sand all up in everywhere.”  
Ian pouted, but seemed to agree. “I think I’ll be finding sand in places it shouldn’t be for weeks.”  
Mickey chuckled and went back to leaning against Ian’s chest.  
***  
It was hours later when they packed up and went home. Mickey had been dragged into the water twice by Ian, and, surprisingly, once my Liam. On the way home, Mickey fell asleep against Ian’s shoulder, snoring softly. Ian woke him up gently when they reached the Gallagher household. They climbed the steps, Ian practically pulling Mickey. They both collapsed onto the bed, Mickey groaning slightly as his sore skin hit the soft fabric of Ian’s duvet.  
“I’m burned,” he said. “I’m a lobster.”  
“Look at me,” Ian ordered. Mickey rolled over, facing Ian. “Nah, you’re not that bad. Not as bad as Lip. He is not going to be able to move in the morning.”  
“I don’t look bad?” Mickey asked tentatively. “Not monsterish?”  
“No, Mick.” Ian smiled down at his goof ball of a boyfriend. Sure, Mickey was a thug, but he was Ian’s thug. “You look perfect.”  
Mickey grinned widely, and it turned into a yawn, which caused him to wince as he hurt the skin on his face. “I’m gonna be all blotchy tomorrow and it sucks.”  
“Blotchy?”  
“Yeah, my skin goes all blotchy when I get sunburnt. I don’t know why. I think it’s because I’m shit at putting on sunblock.”  
Ian chuckled, grabbing a notebook and a pencil from his desk.  
“‘Cha doin’?” Mickey mumbled, curling up beneath Ian’s covers.  
“Writing that down in my list of funny things you’ve said,” Ian said.  
“You have a list?”  
“Yeah, you’re a funny guy.”  
“M’kay…” Mickey nodded, slowly drifting off to sleep.  
***  
Half way through the night, Mickey woke up to the feeling of Ian jostling about in the bed next to him. It was Ian’s bed, and tiny as shit, but comfortable to both of them.  
“Sht,” Ian whispered. “Did I wake you?”  
“Yes,” Mickey grumbled. “Go back to sleep.”  
“I haven’t been tired, so I went to watch TV.”  
Mickey shot Ian a quizzical look, turning to look at the glaring alarm clock. “It’s three thirty in the fucking morning.” He placed a hand on Ian’s chest, then pressed his boyfriend down onto the mattress. “Go the fuck to sleep.”  
Ian laughed, and snuggled in next to Mickey.  
“And back the fuck up, it’s like, ninety degrees in here, I don’t need you sweating all over me,” Mickey mumbled, even though he knew Ian would curl around him like an octopus.  
Sure enough, Ian did exactly that.  
“Good night, Mickey,” Ian said.  
“Night.”  
There was a moment of silence, and Mickey was nearly asleep when Ian whispered, “I love you.”  
Mickey huffed out a breath, and turned over in the cage of Ian’s limbs. “I love you, too. Now go the fuck to sleep.”  
***  
Ian was still asleep when Mickey woke up, which was unusual, seeing as Ian loved to go out for his morning run at about six, and Mickey never got up before ten. He struggled his way out of Ian’s grasp, looked at the clock (yep, ten o’clock, on the dot), and went down to the kitchen.  
“Hey, Mickey,” Fiona greeted. She handed him a cup of coffee. “You seen Ian this morning?”  
“Yeah, he’s still asleep,” Mickey said.  
He didn’t miss the look of worry that flashed over Fiona’s face, but she school her expression into something unreadable when Mickey tried to look closer.  
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be up soon,” Fiona mused.  
It came lunch time, and Ian still hadn’t surfaced. Fiona set the table for lunch, and shot Mickey a look. She gestured to the stairs with her head, and he took the signal to go get Ian. He walked up the stairs, taking them two at a time, trying three, but his legs were a little too short. He walked over to the door to Ian’s room, which was open, and looked in on Ian in his bed. He had rolled over to face the wall, and pulled the blanket up to his chin, even in the sweltering heat.  
“Hey,” Mickey said, walking in.  
Ian said nothing.  
Mickey sat down on the bed, reaching to pull the blanket down further from Ian’s chin. He saw his boyfriend’s eyes were open, just staring at the wall.  
“Come on, it’s lunch,” Mickey said, attempting to run a hand through Ian’s hair.  
Ian pushed him away, shuffling closer to the wall.  
“Ian, you sick?” Mickey asked. “You need me to get Fiona?”  
Ian shook his head.  
“Ian, what’s up?” Mickey asked. “You want me to get you something? Food, water?”  
Ian shook his head again.  
“What do you want?”  
“Leave me alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I've only ever written smut once before, and I'm not too good at it.


	6. Wait, What the Fuck is Bipolar Disorder?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this sucks ass, I'm so tired. And please, if I get anything wrong, please tell me and I will fix it!

Ian stayed in bed for one and a half weeks. No one could get him up, not even Mickey. Mickey stayed by his side most days, only moving to go get food, water, and to go to the bathroom. He slept on an old sleeping bag on the floor next to Ian’s bed, because the first night he’d tried to comfort Ian, and sleep next to him, Mickey had been pushed out. He didn’t know how to cheer him up, so Mickey did what he did when Mandy was sick. He sat by Ian’s bed, and read to him.  
He was halfway through The Prisoner of Azkaban when Ian nudged his shoulder. Mickey whipped around to face him, a smile tugging at his mouth.  
“Hey,” Mickey whispered, resting an arm on Ian’s mattress.  
“Hey,” Ian said. “You do know I’ve already read all the Harry Potter books, right?”  
Mickey shrugged. “The only other book I could find was Eat, Pray, Love, and I didn’t really think you’d like that.”  
Ian shook his head, burying his face in his pillow. “No, I wouldn’t.”  
“You want anything?” Mickey reached over and tentatively ran a hand through Ian’s messy curls. He loved Ian’s morning hair, before he’d taken the time to straighten it. “Food, water? A shower?”  
“A glass of juice would be nice,” Ian mumbled.   
Mickey nodded, and quickly sprang to his feet. He ran down the stairs, into the kitchen, nearly knocking Lip down in the process.  
“Hey, watch where you’re going!” he grumbled.  
“Shut the fuck up!” Mickey yelled. He pulled a glass down from the cupboard, and pulled the carton of orange juice from the fridge. He filled up the glass, hands shaking, heart racing for some reason.  
“Why are you so keen on getting a glass of juice?” Lip snapped.  
“Ian wanted it,” Mickey replied, not in the mood to put up with any of Lip’s bullshit.  
Lip was silent for a moment, and then he was thundering up the stairs to Ian’s room. Mickey raced after him, careful not to drop the glass, just in time to see Ian whack Lip over the head with a pillow.  
“Get the fuck out and leave me alone!” Ian yelled, his voice breaking, causing Mickey’s heart to break. “Go away, Lip!”  
“Ian, I just want to talk!” Lip said, holding up his arms to fend off the pillow. “I just want to-”  
“You heard him,” Mickey interrupted. “Get the fuck out, Phillip.”  
Lip glared at Mickey, but got up to leave the room “He probably doesn’t want you in their either, Michael.”  
“Then that’s fine,” Mickey said, raising his eyebrows and shoulders in a shrug. “I’ll give him his fucking juice and leave.”  
Lip scowled even deeper, and stormed off to his room.  
“Here you go,” Mickey said softly to Ian, placing the glass down on his desk. “I’ll leave if you want me to.”  
Ian shook his head, tears bubbling at the corners of his eyes. "I want you to stay. Come sit with me?" Ian asked.  
Mickey sat next to Ian, wrapping his arms around the shaking red head. He felt Ian crying, a slight tremor and a hitch in his breathing. Mickey carded his fingers through Ian's hair. They sat in silence, Ian crying, Mickey holding.  
"Ian?" Fiona was at the door. "Hey, baby. How you feeling?"   
Ian just shifted closer to Mickey, shaking his head.  
"I've set up an appointment at the clinic for you," she said, sitting at the foot of the bed. "Just a small thing, really."  
"I'm not like mom," Ian said.   
"Just because you're not like mom doesn't mean you're not bipolar."  
"Bi-what?" Mickey asked. "What the fuck is that?"  
"It's manic depression, Mick," Ian muttered. "My mom has it. I don't."  
Fiona sighed, and motioned for Mickey to come with her into the hallway. He untangled himself from his boyfriend, following the brown haired woman.  
"Can you get him to go?" she asked.  
"I don't know," Mickey whispered back. "He's barely talking to me. Just let me take care of him until he gets better."   
"Mickey, he's not going to get better. It’s like high highs and low lows, over and over again." Fiona stepped further away from the door. "Our mother tried to kill herself because she got so bad. I don't want him to be like our mother."  
"He's not your mother. He won't do that."  
"How do you know?"  
Mickey didn't. He felt a wave of panic when he thought of Ian doing that to himself. He couldn't stand the thought of living without Ian, and he ran a hand over his face. "I'll try. That's all i can say I can do."  
Fiona nodded, patting Mickey's arm. Mickey went back into Ian's room, sitting down next to him.  
“I’m not going,” Ian muttered, curling up against Mickey again. “I’m not Monica.”  
“Not getting help for this is just what Monica did, isn’t it?” Mickey asked, knowing he was stepping in dangerous territory.  
Ian grunted. “She didn’t get help for her bipolar disorder, no. But I’m not Monica, I’m not bipolar.”  
“Being bipolar isn’t being Monica.” Mickey rubbed a hand against his eyes. “Not getting help for whatever this is, Ian, is just proving that you are like her.”  
Ian’s only response was to move away from Mickey, turning to face to wall.  
“No, Ian, listen to me.” Mickey grabbed Ian’s shoulders and forcibly turned Ian over again. The redhead struck out, hitting Mickey in the nose with his clenched fist. Mickey felt blood run down his chin, but he didn’t really care at that moment. “Ian! Listen to me!” Mickey pinned Ian’s long limbs down with his hands and knees. “Listen! I don’t know what Monica did to this family. I don’t know what Monica had, or even if she passed it on to you. But just the thought that she might have is enough to worry your whole family, and it warrants a visit to the clinic. If you’re not bipolar like her, then, fine, we figure out why you crashed all of a sudden. If you are bipolar, we get you on some meds, we get you help, and we prove that you aren’t Monica! Because doing this, not getting help, is a Monica move!”  
Ian stopped struggling, tears running down his cheeks, violent sobs torn from his throat. Mickey released his wrists and legs, but Ian just wrapped himself around Mickey anyway. Mickey held his boyfriend as he cried, letting the redhead be for a while. Soon enough, Ian had conked out, tear tracks still evident on his face. Fiona came in about an hour later to talk to Ian, but saw both boys asleep, and decided to wait till the next day.  
***  
Getting Ian to the clinic was a whole other ordeal in and of itself. First, he didn’t want to leave the house because he thought that the police were after Mickey, and he had to protect him.  
“Mickey, if we leave, they’ll get you,” Ian whispered, peering out the window at the street below.  
“Wha…?” Mickey asked, sitting up in bed, looking blearily at Ian. “Who’s gonna get me?”  
“The police are after you.”  
Mickey jolted upright in the bed. “What? Why?”  
“Your dad ordered a Russian prostitute to fuck you straight, and she pressed charges against you of raping her.” Ian’s eyes flicked to both ends of the street, then he leapt from the bed and down the stairs.  
“What?” Mickey yelled after him, rushing to follow. “Wait, Ian, hold up!”  
Ian was crouched by the kitchen table, baseball bat in hand, peering through the small opening in the window.  
“Ian, my dad didn't order a prostitute to fuck me, what the hell are you talking about?” Mickey said, looking around at the astonished faces of Ian’s siblings.  
“She still called the cops, I know it, Mickey, I saw it happen.”  
“You saw her call the police?” Mickey asked.  
Ian turned to face Mickey, his eyes wide and wild. “No, I saw her do that to you. And I couldn’t do anything because your stupid fucking father had a gun to my head, and Mandy was pregnant, and I was almost naked. Both of us were mostly naked.”  
“Ian, what the hell are you talking about?”  
Mickey walked towards Ian, slowly, with his hands outstretched. He reached for the bat, which Ian had clutched in his hands like a life line. There was a tense silence in the room, Mickey stepping closer to Ian, who was tentatively holding out the bat for Mickey to take. Mickey nearly had it in his hand when the back door slammed open, causing all of them to jump, causing Fiona to let out a shriek, and causing Ian to swing the bat forcefully at the intruder. Vee jumped back with a scream of pure terror, and Kev caught her before he fell.  
“What the fuck?” he yelled. “You trying to kill my wife or some shit?”  
“Get in!” Ian yelled, wilding the bat at them. “Get in and close the fucking door, they’ll find us!”  
Kev shot Ian a perplexed look, frowning over at Fiona and Mickey. He did as Ian said, though, carrying Vee in and closing the door. Ian’s shoulders sagged in relief as the door closed, but a police siren sounded in the distance, and he leapt back from the window, right into Mickey. They both went sprawling, Mickey tugged the bat out of Ian’s hand, hitting his head on the countertop on his way down.  
“Mickey!” Ian shouted, scrambling to take Mickey;s head in his hands, inspecting for injuries. “Oh, my God, are you okay?”  
“I’m fine!” Mickey snapped, though his head hurt like a bitch. “Ian, you nearly killed Vee!”  
Ian looked up at their friend, who was still clutching her husband tightly. He looked back down at Mickey, the back of whose head had started to bleed, turning blond white hair crimson. He sagged forward, resting his head on Mickey’s shoulder, and let out a shuddering breath.  
“I’m okay, Ian,” Vee said.  
“Me, too,” Mickey whispered into Ian’s ear. “Come on. Let’s go get dressed, and I’ll take you to the clinic.”  
Ian nodded his head, pulled Mickey to his feet, and slowly made his way up the stairs. Fiona rushed at Mickey, first aid kit in hand. She tended to Mickey’s wound while Ian got changed, and hugged him tightly for getting Ian to agree. It was going to be a while before Ian would be stable again, but Fiona knew he was in good hands.


	7. Shit is About to Go Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is bad, it's really late. I have gone through and looked for errors, but if you find any, please let me know, and I will change them.

Mickey woke up next to Ian, whose arm was tightly wrapped around him, under a sweltering pile of blankets, in the middle of May. It had been three weeks since Ian’s first depressive episode, and Ian had finally gotten out of his drug induced stupor not to long before. It had taken him a while to get used to the drugs, and the strict schedule of taking them, but he seemed determined not to fuck up and prove that he was in the least bit like Monica. Or, at least, like her in the sense of how she reacted to her disorder.  
Mickey smiled at Ian, who slept on peacefully, but knew he’d have to wake the redhead up soon so he could take his pills. Mickey had expected Ian to fight it at first, but he had brought his flaming haired ass to the line and got him to take the medication. There was no negotiating it. Ian was on the road to recovery. Mickey had expected more of a fight, though, than what he got. Ian was a fighter, after all. He was definitely shocked when Ian gave up only after two days of refusal.   
What Mickey definitely didn't expect at seven in the morning was Iggy bursting into Ian’s room, dragging him out of bed, and demanding that he came home right now.  
“Dad’s coming home today, and if it doesn’t look like you’ve been living with us, he’s gonna go ape shit, and you know it!” Iggy exclaimed.  
“Hold the fuck up, what?” Mickey asked. “What is going on?”  
“Dad’s getting out today.” Iggy stopped to take in a calming breath, and nodded a greeting at Ian, who had sat up in bed soon after the arrival of the dirty blond Milkovich. “You need to come home. Look like you have been living with us, instead of being all domestic and shit with your boyfriend.”  
“Right.”  
Mickey stood, gathered some clothes, and set off to the Milkovich house. He grumbled to himself as he walked the few blocks, Ian not far behind, talking calmly to Iggy about his small collection of baseball cards from when he was young. Iggy, in turn, told Ian about his large collection of different shaped bongs, and his slightly alarming weed consumption rate. Mickey couldn’t help but glow a little on the inside at his brother and boyfriend getting along so seamlessly. It was awesome, to say the least.  
“Where the fuck have you two been?” Mandy proclaimed as she saw her brothers walk into the house. “Oh, hey, Ian, how’s it going?”  
“Oh, you know,” Ian said with a shrug. “Mentally ill.”  
“Awesome,” Mandy replied. “And you brought Mickey back to us, I see. Well, my assfaced little pale butthead, you need to make your room look lived in so dad won’t throw a fit when he inspects the house for deserting Milkovich’s.”  
Mickey nodded, making his way to his room, checking that his sunglasses were perched on the top of his head, in quick reach if his father suddenly burst in on him. Ian followed, taking Mickey’s clothes and dumping them on the floor, neatly arranging them into controlled chaos.   
“You never had a clean room when I came to visit,” Ian said.  
“How do you make a bedroom look lived in?” Mickey asked, sitting down on his bed.  
“Well.” Ian sat next to him. “I could fuck you into the mattress and that would at least make it look slept in.”  
“I’d rather not fuck you in this close a proximity to my family.”  
The was a silence.   
“I could blow you instead?” Ian suggested. “Give the bed that squirmed around in look.”  
Mickey snorted, pushing Ian over and leaning back on his pillows. He stared up at the ceiling, the plain white expanse glaring at him, begging to be broken and wrecked. “Yo, hand me a knife from my dresser.”  
Ian got up to get him a knife, handing it to Mickey, and standing far back so Mickey wouldn’t accidentally hit him with the knife. Mickey threw it up into the ceiling, then stood up on his bed to get it. He repeated this action several times, until once, when the knife hit the ceiling with the hilt instead of the blade, it came back down and cut Mickey’s forehead. Mickey let out a shout of pain, quickly moving off his bed and to the hallway. Ian followed him, rushing to get tissue paper from the bathroom. He guided Mickey to sit on the lip of the bath, and softly, slowly, pressed the tissue to Mickey’s forehead to stop the bleeding.  
“That went better in my mind,” Mickey mumbled.  
Ian laughed. “I’m sure it did.”  
Mickey looked up into his emerald eyes, which seemed duller than usual. “You okay?”  
Ian looked like he was going to make some smart retort, completely sidestepping the question, but saw the worried look on Mickey’s face, and decided to answer truthfully. “I’ve been better. At least now the meds aren’t completely fucking me over. And how are you?”  
“I just knifed myself in the forehead.”  
“I can see that. How did you think that was a good idea?”  
“I used to throw knives around last time Terry saw me, so I thought it’d be believable.”  
Ian nodded, taking the tissue away, and inspecting the wound. “You should be fine. It’s not that deep, but it’s your head, so it was bound to bleed more than normal.”  
Mickey nodded, hooking an arm around Ian’s waist, and pulling him forward He grinned up at the taller boy, who bent down to kiss him lightly. Mickey rested his head again Ian’s chest, humming contentedly.   
There was a loud bang, and someone yelling, “Daddy’s home!”  
Mickey leapt away from Ian, who leapt away from Mickey. Mickey rushed into the living room, flicking his glasses down over his eyes, and stood next to Iggy, like a line up of soldiers in battle.  
“How are my kids, huh?” Terry asked. “How are my kids looking so good, so healthy, and not one of them is smart enough to get me a fucking beer?”  
Collin rolled his eyes to himself, but went and got the beer, handing over the can to their father. Terry smirked smugly at the can, but his eyes caught a flash of red as Ian tried to sneak out the front door.  
“Who the fuck are you?” Terry snarled.  
“I’m, um… I’m Ian,” Ian mumbled.  
“Who?”  
“He’s my friend,” Mickey said.  
Terry rounded on Mickey. “Did I say you could speak, ya little freak?”  
Mickey shook his head, waiting for the inevitable punch. But Terry’s attention seemed to be focused on Ian.  
“I know you,” Terry said, pointing at Ian’s chest with his beer can. “You’re Frank Gallagher’s kid, the fucking queer!”  
Ian went pale.  
“The fuck you think you’re doing in here?” Terry snarled. “The fuck you think any of my boys are gonna let a fucking faggot into our house?”  
Ian shook his head, creeping slowly towards the door. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t-”  
Terry cut him off. “Why do you fucking think any of my sons would want to be friends with…” There was a pause in Terry’s sentence as he thought, and then he turned on Mickey. “You! You said he was your friend. Why the fuck you letting a fag into our house?”  
Mickey shook his head. “It’s not like that, dad, Ian’s nice. He’s cool…” He knew he’d said something wrong, because his father’s eyes were bulging, veins throbbing at his temples.  
“You think this fucking queer is cool? Nice?” Terry spat. “I didn’t raise a fucking pansy! You fucking him?”  
Mickey shook his head.   
“He fucking you?”  
“No!” Mickey exclaimed, too vehemently, too forcefully.  
“You’re a fucking fag, too!” Terry advanced on Mickey, fist held high to punch. “No son of mines gonna be a fucking faggot!”


	8. A Kiss With a Fist Isn't Better than This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short...

Mickey' fist collided solidly with Terry's face, feeling pain race up his arm to his shoulder. Terry staggered back, a shocked expression on his face, anger flaring in his eyes.  
“You little shit!” he yelled advancing on Mickey again. “I’ll fucking kill you!”  
Ian rushed forward, pushing Terry down, before going to stand in front of Mickey. The other Milkovich children followed his lead, gathering around the two boys. Mickey stood, eyes wide behind his dark glasses, shaking his fist to somehow relieve the pain. There was a pregnant pause in the air, Terry glaring up at his children, who glared down at him, creating a protective barrier between him and their brother.  
“You stay the fuck away from Mickey,” Iggy growled, fists clenched tightly at his sides.  
Mickey snapped back into reality, knowing that this would turn into a full out Milkovich style brawl, and they’d all get sent to prison. He pulled on Ian’s arm, making the redhead face him. “We can’t let this turn into a fight.”   
Ian looked confused, quirking an eyebrow. “Mickey, he’ll kill you.”  
“We’ll all get sent to prison. You want that?”  
“Mick,” Collin said. “What you planning?”  
“Why the fuck aren’t you beating him?” Terry demanded. “I raised you better than this! I raised you to kill fucking ass diggers!”  
“He’s our brother!” Mandy yelled. “We’d rather kill you than him!”  
Terry scowled, roaring as he jumped to his feet, fists flung towards Mandy’s face. There was a sickening crack when Collin’s punch landed on Terry’s face.  
“You fucker!” Collin yelled. “Igs, call the police. We’ve got enough dirt on this mother fucker to send him to jail for life.”  
Iggy nodded, rushing to do as his brother ordered. Collin turned to Mickey and Ian.   
“Get out of here, you two,” he said. “Don’t come back until I call you.”  
Mickey and Ian ran.  
***  
They made it back to the Gallagher household in one piece, clutching at each other as they stood by the door.   
“I love you,” Ian panted.   
“I love you, too,” Mickey gasped back. “Never fucking forget it.”  
Ian shook his head. “Come on. Let’s go get some more sleep. I don’t want to think about today.”  
Mickey nodded his head, following Ian up the stairs. He decided, after a long time, that nothing was better than time with Ian.  
“We should get our own place,” he said as they settled into bed. “Our own little apartment.”  
“Okay,” Ian said. “I’d love that.”  
Yeah. Nothing was better than Ian.


	9. Just Because We’re Moving In Together, It Doesn’t Mean We’re Getting Married, Fiona!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out to be a lot more smutty than I thought it would.... Also, this is a little longer to make up for yesterdays being very short.

Mickey shifted in bed, arm outstretched to wrap around Ian, but met the cold hardness of a laptop. Opening an eye, Mickey looked up at the offending machine, watching Ian scan the screen concentratedly. He bit at the corner of his bottom lip, a habit he’d picked up from Mickey, and shook his head occasionally.  
“Any word from Collin?” Mickey asked, voice slurred by his sleepiness.  
“Not yet,” Ian muttered. “He said he’d contact us when everything was okay.”  
“Yeah, and that was a week ago.” Mickey sat up next to Ian. “I sort of need my clothes.”  
“I told you, you can borrow some of mine.” Ian smiled smugly to himself. “They might be a bit big, but they should do the job.”  
Mickey chuckled, leaning against Ian’s shoulder and looking at the screen. “Apartments?”  
“It was your idea.” Ian sighed and scrolled through the page some more. “Everything’s a little outside of our budget. About a thousand dollars too high.”  
“Yeah, that’s because you’re looking in the nicer places in Chicago. I mean, I wanna get out of this shit hole, too, but we gotta start someplace low. Around here.”  
“We’d have to pay for the heating, water, electric, food, rent, our phones, utilities, all that shit, not to mention my meds on top of all that.” Ian growled and ran his hands through his hair.  
“Speaking of, you taken them yet?” Mickey never liked to ask, but sometimes he felt like he had to.  
“Hand them to me?” Ian said, shooting him a blinding smile. “I didn’t want to wake you with the shaking of the bottles.”  
“Bitch, I could sleep through a hurricane.”  
“I know, sweetie, I know.”  
Mickey handed over the pill bottles, and a glass of water that they kept on the table by the bed.  
“So,” Ian said, after taking his medication. “We need to look somewhere more local?”  
“Yep.”  
Ian opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off my Mickey’s phone vibrating. Mickey scrambled to get up, pressing the answer option.  
“Hello?”  
“Hey, Mickey,” Collin said. “We’ve got dad locked up! Don’t ask how, it might also get me in prison, but, you know. Family, right?”  
“Uh, sure,” Mickey said, choosing to ignore the fact that Terry was also family.  
“So, you can come back.”  
“How is everyone?”  
“A little beaten, a little bloody. You know how Terry can get.”  
There was a thick moment of silence over the phone.   
“Anyway, I, uh, I’m just calling to let you know you can come home. We’re having a party in celebration. Bringing Ethan.”  
“His name’s Ian.”  
“Right, bring Ian.”  
Mickey hung up after agreeing to go, feeling… numb.  
“You okay?” Ian asked. “Mick?”  
Mickey nodded his head, standing up and going into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him. He turned on the shower, and waited for the water to warm up, staring at himself in the mirror. His reflection was strange to him, even after all this time. He knew what his mother used to say. His colouration was just Gods way of showing how unique Mickey was. But Mickey didn’t believe in God. Terry always said he was a freak for it, no matter how many times Mickey had tried to get back in the good books with Terry.   
He was shocked to see, in his reflection, that he was crying. Hot tears blurred the edges of his vision, sliding thick down his cheeks. He could see his face get red and blotchy from the crying, hating how quick and red his face got. He remembered smearing his mothers foundation on his face, once, trying to make his skin darker, trying to make it look normal. He had been crying like he was now, sobbing when his mother had found him. Terry had been drunk.  
His eyes, now pink around the edges, seemed bigger from the tears splashing down his face. If there was one thing he hated about himself the most, it was those eyes.Those stupid, pinky red, fucking eyes. The ones he had to hide almost every time he was home, the thing he still thought that no one liked. The thing that set him apart from from almost everyone else. He saw his reflection crying, the ugly red of his face, of his eyes, and, unthinkingly, punched the mirror with all the force he could muster.  
“Ah, fuck!” he yelled.  
He heard feet come running to the door, which was flung open, and suddenly Ian was in his face, hands holding onto his shoulders.  
“Mickey, what happened?” Ian asked frantically. He looked over Mickey’s shoulder to the mirror, now cracked and broken. “Oh, Mickey. Why?”  
“Why?” Mickey spat, pushing past Ian to close the door, flicking the lock closed. “Why the fuck do you think?”  
“I really don’t know,” Ian said. “That’s why I asked.”  
“Why do you like me?” Mickey blurted, not really wanting to ask but still wanting to know the answer.  
“Why do I…?” Ian frowned. “Because you’re amazing. Because you’re funny, and smart, and a big softy behind that wall you’ve built up for yourself. Because I think you’re the best damn person in the whole world. Because I loved how you make me feel inside. Because I think you’re beautiful.”  
“I’m not…” Mickey shook his head, rubbing the back of his uninjured hand over his eyes. “I’m nothing you said I am.”  
“Mick, you might not see it, but I do.” Ian pulled Mickey closer, wrapping his arms around the shorter teen. “I see so many things that I love about you.”  
“I love you, too,” Mickey said, sniffling.  
“Are you two actually in the shower or just running up the water bill?” Fiona called from outside the bathroom.  
The two laughed.   
“I’m actually gonna have a shower,” Mickey called.  
“Okay.” Fiona walked away from the door.  
“Care if I join?” Ian asked, arms still around Mickey.  
“So you can perve on me showering?” Mickey asked, laughing. He wiped at his face with the palms of his hands. “Dream on, Gallagher.”  
Ian smirked, pulling Mickey closer to the sink, sitting him down on the closed toilet. “At least let me take care of your hand.”  
Mickey complied, watching as Ian pulled tiny pieces of glass from his cut up knuckles, soothingly washing the split skin. He then moved on the Mickey’s shirt, pulling it over the pale blond hair, letting it fall to the floor next to them. He leaned forward, biting down on Mickey’s shoulder, hands strayed across the defined but soft chest of his lover. Mickey sighed out slowly, a pleased smile forming on his lips.  
“Let me show you how much I love you,” Ian whispered, latching his teeth on Mickey’s ear lobe. “Let me tell you why I love you.”  
Mickey’s hands splayed on Ian’s back, bunching up his shirt with his fists. He kissed the top of Ian’s head, pulling his shirt off in one swift movement. He ran his hands down Ian’s back, stroking his broad shoulders, feeling every bump of Ian’s spine. Mickey leaned down to catch Ian’s lips, soft and pliant as always. Ian kissed him slowly, determinedly, and then not at all, pulling Mickey to his feet. He dropped his hands to Mickey’s boxers, pushing them down and cupping Mickey’s ass with his hands. There was no smugness or malice in his smile, just pure delight as he pulled the smaller boy closer.   
“Let me,” Ian whispered again. “Please.”  
Mickey nodded, fingering the hem of Ian’s boxers, then pushing them down, too. They both stepped into the shower, feeling the water cascade onto their shoulders, into their hair, and down their bodies. Ian kissed the hinge of Mickey’s jaw, hands tracing circles onto his skin causing goosebumps to rise on his arms. He kissed his way down Mickey’s neck, stopping once to leave a dark red mark as Mickey ran his hands through Ian’s morning curls. Ian knelt down, licking at the water drops gathered on his boyfriends skin. He kissed his smooth stomach, biting at his hip, leaving another red mark. Mickey gasped as Ian drew closer to his crotch.  
“I love you,” Mickey gasped.  
Ian kissed his way back to Mickey’s stomach, biting and licking at the flesh there. “I love the way your skin looks in the water.” A kiss here, a lick there. “The way you squirm when I kiss your stomach.” Mickey was indeed squirming. “The way your thighs tremble when I’m almost touching you.” His nipped at the soft flesh of Mickey’s thigh. “The breathy moans you make when I touch you.” He kissed at the base of Mickey’s cock, moving down to lick the hard length from tip to base, then back again. “The way you feel in my mouth.”  
Mickey watched as Ian took him in his mouth, head bobbing back up and down. He gasped and Ian clasped his hands around Mickey’s waist, one sliding around to trace his entrance, running a flat finger against the puckered ring of muscle. Mickey had his hands in Ian’s hair, on his shoulder, wanting to touch more of Ian. The redhead slipped a finger into Mickey, matching the pace he set with his mouth around the older mans dick. He pulled away with a lewd pop, smiling up at Mickey.  
“I love the way I can make you come undone in just a few twists,” he roughly twisted his fingers at this moment, his fingers hitting against Mickey’s prostate, “of my fingers.” His smile grew bigger as Mickey moaned unabashedly, rocking back on the redheads fingers. “I love seeing you so overcome by pleasure you fall apart.” He took Mickey in his mouth again, feeling the head of his partners cock hit the back of his throat. He removed his hand from Mickey’s hip, wrapping it around his own dick.  
“Ian,” Mickey panted. “I can… I can do tha-ah!”  
Ian had thrust his fingers roughly again, knowing it would cause a flash of pleasure to surge through Mickey. Ian hummed around him, knowing from the erratic little hip movements that Mickey was close. He sucked harder, thrust his fingers quicker, and, soon enough, felt Mickey coming hot and thick down his throat, the blonds’ fingers clenched tightly on his shoulders. Ian pulled away again, swallowing, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth. He was still hard, but the blissed out look on Mickey’s face was enough to bring him to his own orgasm, biting softly onto Mickey’s thigh and hearing the splash of his come in the water.  
“We need to do that again,” Mickey panted. “You can take your fingers out of my ass now.”  
Ian laughed, pulling away his fingers, letting the water run over his body as he looked up in reverence at Mickey.  
“I love you,” Ian said. “So much.”  
Mickey blushed, cheeks going very red. “I love you, too, Ian.”  
Ian stood, turning Mickey around and picking up the shampoo, which he lathered generously into the pale hair.  
“You my nurse now?” Mickey snarked without any venom.  
“As long as you’ll have me,” Ian replied, kissing the back of Mickey’s neck.  
***  
After their shower was over, the water having run cold halfway through, Mickey and Ian curled up in Ian’s bed again, laptop open on Ian’s legs, looking through more apartment listings.  
“We’re like a married couple,” Mickey said. “All we need is the rings.”  
“You proposing, Mick?” Ian joked.  
Mickey laughed, shaking his head. “Please, I would get you a nice ring before asking.”  
“You’re proposing?” Fiona had run to their door upon hearing those words, her face a mix of excitement and worry. “Seventeen is very young to be getting married.”  
“We’re not getting married,” Ian said. “Just apartment hunting.”  
“You’re moving in together?” she asked.  
“Yep,” Mickey said. “Just got to find a good one.”  
“Well, tell me when the date for the wedding is, and I’ll help you look.”  
Ian rolled his eyes and sighed. “We’re not getting married, Fiona.”  
“You’re looking for apartments together.”  
“Just because you and Gus got an apartment together after you got married doesn’t mean that we are getting married so we can get an apartment!” Ian said.  
Fiona stiffened at the mention of her ex-husband, nervously twisting a lock of hair. “Ian, seventeen is way too young to be getting married. You should wait a few more years, wait to see if this really-”  
“Oh, my god!” Ian glared at Fiona. “Just Because We’re Moving In Together, It Doesn’t Mean We’re Getting Married, Fiona!”  
Fiona nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “Well, either way. You have my blessing.” She turned and went down to the living room.  
“Now we just have to convince Lip to give me away,” Ian mumbled.  
“I’m sure he would,” Mickey said, wrapping an arm around Ian’s waist. “Oh, that one looks nice.”


	10. Fuck You, You Fucking Fuck (Hello, New Neighbours)

Mickey hauled ass out of bed, pulled Ian out of bed, passed the taller boy his meds, went to take a piss, washed his hands, and then went downstairs to face the wrath of Fiona.  
“You’re seriously doing this?” she asked the second Mickey entered her field of vision. “You’re seriously moving?”  
“Yes,” Mickey said, rubbing his eye. “Today. And Ian wants to move just as much as I do.”  
“Yeah, right!” Lip shouted from the table. “He’s our little brother, he should be here with us, and he knows it!”  
“I’m right here!” Ian shouted from upstairs. “I want to move. It’s not like Mickey’s holding a gun to my head.”  
“Mickey,” Fiona tried again, in a calmer tone. “Ian just got stable on his pills. I think it’s not a good move for him to be so far from his family at a time like this.”  
Up went Mickey’s eyebrows, arching ferociously. He was a formidable sight. Shorter than the other Milkovich boys, he had learned quickly that he needed to be a strong, scrappy fighter. Pale haired, red eyed, and golden white haired, more people ran from Mickey than laughed at him. And those that did laugh were soon running. With arms crossed over his chest, he stared at Fiona in angry shock.  
“You think I wouldn’t take care of him?” Mickey said quietly, lowly. “You think I’d let him go off his meds and go manic? You think I’d let him go off his meds and try kill himself?”  
“No, Mick, that’s not…” Fiona sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m sorry.”  
“We read to go?” Ian asked. “If we get the mattress in today, we could sleep there tonight.”  
“Do you guys need any help?” Fiona asked, face full of guilt.  
“That would be great, Fiona,” Mickey said, patting her arm. “Just, try not to convert your brother?”  
“What?” Lip asked.  
“Nevermind,” Mickey mumbled.  
***  
Mickey wanted to kill Lip. He was willing to commit murder and go to prison for the rest of his life, just to make Lip shut up.  
“You don’t even know if you’ll be able to keep this apartment,” Lip was telling Ian. “What if you lose your job? Who’s going to pay the bills then?”  
“Oh, I don’t know, Mickey?” Ian snapped. “He does have a fucking job.”  
“Yeah, dealing drugs.” Lip dropped the couch he and Ian were holding, causing Ian to grunt. “Have you even thought about this, Ian?”  
“No one has thought about this than me!” Ian yelled. “I have thought about this for weeks, for years! Getting my own place with Mickey is my dream, Lip! I’m fucking bipolar, I can’t join the army, I have a shitty boss who keeps trying to get in my pants, my life fucking sucks, and the only good things in it right now are Mickey and my family! And you’re not putting a good spin on my family, you piece of shit!”  
Lip looked at IAn with shock splashed across his face, and bent to pick up his end of the couch again.  
“No one wants to buy drugs from an albino anyway,” Mickey joked, brushing past Ian and bumping into Lip, holding a small cabinet. “They get scared away by my eyes, I think.”  
“I love your eyes,” Ian said.  
***  
“Oh, Ian!” Mickey moaned, looking at Ian, who was bent over cackling. “Oh, Ian, fuck me harder!”  
“Mickey!” Ian let out breathily, trying his best not to laugh. “You like that? Yeah, you like that?”  
“Oh, baby!” Mickey flopped down on the mattress next to Ian, groaning loudly. “Yeah, just like that! Oh, baby!”  
Ian rested his forehead against Mickey’s shoulder, shaking with mirth. There came a loud bang on the wall, a call of, “Shut the fuck up!”, and a bang from down the hall as someone hurried from the hallway into their apartment.  
“Oh, Ian, right there!”  
“Mickey! Oh, Mick, baby, I’m gonna come!”  
“Oh, Ian, come for me, baby!”  
Ian let out a long groan, an over exaggerated climax, and grinned at Mickey, who soon repeated Ian’s performance.   
“What the fuck is wrong with us?” Mickey asked quietly with a laugh.  
“Well,” Ian said, shifting to rest his head on his hands. “I’m a Gallagher, and you’re a Milkovich, so. There you have it.”  
Mickey kissed Ian softly, running a hand through his hair.   
“I love you,” Mickey whispered. “I really love you.”  
“I love you, too.”


	11. Game of Gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short, it's late.

Mickey curled up next to Ian, looking around at the finally finished room. They had stored away the last moving box, hung up their last piece of clothing, placed the last fork in the kitchenette unit they had. They had finally moved into their small, cramped, shitty, lovely, homely little apartment. Mickey couldn’t help but smile softly as he thought of the life he was going to make, was making, with Ian.  
“Do you want to watch the latest episode of “Game of Thrones”?” Ian asked,flicking through the channels. They had a small TV set up across the room from their bed.   
“I’ve never actually seen it,” Mickey admitted nonchalantly.  
“Never?” Ian sounded outraged. He sat up straight and stared down at Mickey, green eyes glinting in the low lamp light. “We have to fix that at once!”  
“At once?”  
“Shut up, I’ve been watching too much medieval shows.”  
Mickey chuckled, leaning against Ian as he settled back down. “Okay, we can watch this show, then.”  
Ian grabbed his laptop. “It’s just lucky for you I have all four seasons on my computer, just in case something like this ever happened.”  
“Oh, I’m sure you thought this would come up.”  
“Well, seeing how until very recently you hadn’t seen any of the Harry Potter movies, I had to make sure I had everything I wanted to show you backed up on here.”  
“How’d you even get Debbie to give you the laptop?”  
“Grammy Gallagher gave here a new one, so I got this one, seeing as I’m the only Gallagher who isn’t currently living with the rest of the family or in jail.”  
“I’m glad you’re not in jail.”  
Ian glared at him softly. “Stopping changing the subject. Prepare yourself for a marathon of a life time.”  
Ian pulled Mickey even closer, clicked the video file, and started to play the first episode of “Game of Thrones”.


	12. And You're Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was uploaded so late.

Mickey closed the door to the apartment quietly, knowing that Ian was still asleep, and would probably sleep for a few hours longer. It was one of those days. Mickey sighed to himself when Ian rolled closer to him when Mickey had been trying to get up.  
“Stay a bit longer?” Ian asked, sounding just a little childish. “We could watch more GoT?”  
Mickey smiled down at Ian, running his hand through Ian’s hair. It had gotten a bit longer since they moved in together. “I would, Ian. But I have to get to work. I can’t choose my shifts at the site.”  
“Why do you have to work in construction anyway?” Ian pouted. “It’s bad for your skin.”  
“Because it pays okay.” Mickey shrugged, pulling himself from the bed. “And we need the income. I put on lots of sun block. You going in to work today?”  
“Yeah.” Ian huffed and rolled onto his back. “I can’t lose my job.”  
“I’m sure Linda would make an exception.” Mickey tugged off his pj shirt, lifting an arm to put on deodorant. “Tell her it’s a bad day. Your pills are making you loopy.”  
“Nah, she already gave me a raise.”  
“Because of your pills?” Mickey turned to stared confusedly at Ian, who pulled the blanket up to his chin. It was the end of summer, and starting to get cooler again.  
“Partly.” Ian yawned, turning over to bury his face in Mickey’s pillow. “And she walked in on Kash trying to get in my pants. She said he’s lucky she didn’t call the police on him. Said it could be counted as molesting a minor, and if not that, sexual harassment.”  
“He tried to get in your pants?” Mickey stopped halfway through putting his shirt on, staring at Ian a little angrily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“Because Linda had to pull me off Kash. I nearly beat his fucking face in.” All this said with a sleepy tone of voice. Mickey could tell Ian was falling asleep again.  
Mickey finished putting on his work clothes, and leaned over to give Ian a kiss goodbye. “See you later, Ian.”  
“Go make lots of money,” Ian mumbled. “Go, my prince.”  
“Your prince?” Mickey smirked and set another alarm of Ian’s phone. “The first one will go off at nine, when you need to take your pills. Get up for that one, okay?”  
“Okay…” Ian probably couldn’t hear what Mickey was saying.  
“The second will go off at noon, and you need to decide then if you're going to work or not, okay?”  
“Okay…”  
“Who’s this prince of yours, anyway?” Mickey threw out, to see if Ian was listening.  
“Renly Baratheon.” Ian smirked, cracking open an eye. “Go. You’ll be late.”  
And so there Mickey was, closing the door, knowing Ian had fallen back asleep the minute Mickey left their small bedroom.  
“You the new guy?” came a voice from Mickey’s right.  
Mickey jumped a little, reaching his hand up quickly to flick his sunglasses down over his eyes. A habit left over from years with Terry. He turned to face his neighbour.  
“Yes,” Mickey snapped. “Who the fuck are you?”  
“Wow, there,” the guy said. “I live next door.”  
“So?” Mickey made his way to the stairs.  
“I ain’t never seen a real one of you before.” The black haired guy followed Mickey down the stairs, scratching the back of his neck with a chuckle. “Didn’t really think you existed.”  
“What, a gay?” Mickey was shocked at how easily that came off his tongue. It had taken Mickey years to accept it as part of himself, and now it just seemed like a trivial piece of knowledge.  
“No, an albino. You’s one of them, ain’t’cha?”  
“Yes.” Mickey tensed his whole body. Usually what came next was a punch, or, sometimes, a knife.  
“I ain't gonna hurt ya.”  
“How very kind of you.”  
The guy laughed. “I’m Ralph.”  
“Good for you.” They had reached the landing, and Mickey strode out into the open, squinting in sunlight. “And why do you think I give a fuck?”  
“Because you ain’t told me to fuck off yet.”  
“Fuck off.”  
Ralph laughed. “You’re funny. I’mma call you Albi until you tell me your real name.”  
“Fuck off, fuckwad.”  
Ralph laughed again. “You wound me, Albi.”  
Mickey sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I tell you my name, will you leave me alone?”  
“Probably not,” Ralph said. “Seeing as we’s working together at the site.”  
“Jesus,” Mickey sighed. “It’s Mickey, okay?”  
“And what is a person like you doing out here in the South Side, Albi?”  
“I would ask the same of you, hillbilly.”  
Ralph pushed him against a wall, face only a few centimetres away from Mickey’s. “Now you listen, freak. You ain’t gonna call me that again. You hear me? You ain’t never gonna call me tha-”  
Ralph was pulled from Mickey, pushed to the ground, and sent skidding a few paces with a hard kick. Ian stood over him, holding a brown paper bag in his hand. He turned to look at Mickey, eyes tried but strong, breath coming out in short puffs.  
“You forgot your lunch,” he stated simply.  
Mickey nodded, taking the bag. Ian pulled him close, not even caring that he was outside in nothing but boxers and a tank top. He kissed the top of Mickey’s head, holding him tightly.  
“Don’t get hurt,” Ian whispered in his ear. “I don’t know what would happen if you did. And don’t forget to put on more sun block at lunch time.” Mickey nodded. “You’re skin is too handsome to mess up. I love you.”  
“Love you, too,” Mickey mumbled, looking down at Ralph, who was still laying on the ground, moaning. “Jesus, remind me never to piss you off.”  
“I’d never hit you,” Ian said solemnly. “You’re too beautiful to mess up.”  
Mickey shifted on his feet, uncomfortable in the praise. “I’m gonna be late. See you tonight.”  
***  
Mickey opened the front door to their apartment, hoping to find Ian slayed across the couch, but he was nowhere to be seen.  
“Ian?” Mickey called.  
“In the bedroom.”  
Mickey smiled, kicking off his work boots and striding over to the bedroom door. Pushing it open, he saw Ian sat on the bed, a pillow covering his privates, and a smile displayed on his face.   
“Come an have me,” he ordered. “Or I’ll come and have you.”  
Mickey closed to door behind him, as if someone might walk in and see them. “You want me to have you?”  
Ian smirked, and nodded. “Come an take me.”  
“As in, fuck you? Be the top?”  
“If you want to.”  
“I’m more comfortable being the bottom.”  
“Then come and ride me.” Ian laid back, propped up on his elbows. “I wouldn’t mind.”  
Mickey slowly removed his work clothes, watching Ian as he did. He saw Ian’s pupils grow wider, saw the pillow budge a little. “Do you want me that bad?”  
“Yes,” Ian breathed. “Yes, I do.”  
Mickey, now fully naked, crawled over Ian in the bed. “Well.” He pulled the pillow out from beneath him. “This needs to go away, then.” He leaned down and planted a kiss on Ian’s neck, moving down and to the left, twirling his tongue around one of Ian’s nipples.  
Ian gasped quietly, running a hand through Mickey’s hair, down his neck, and over his back. He grabbed Mickey’s shoulder, intent on pulling him up to kiss him, when Mickey let out a sharp grunt of pain.  
“Mick?” Ian asked. “You okay?”  
“Yeah, just.” Mickey sat up straight, straddling Ian’s hips. “Sore from today.”  
“We could try this again on the weekend?” Ian suggested. “I’m off sunday.”  
“No, no,” Mickey said, sliding his hands down Ian’s chest. “We can do this now.”  
“Mick, you’re hurt. Let’s just get some rest, so we’re up to it on sunday.”  
“It doesn't really matter if I’m too sore tomorrow,” Mickey insisted. “I can call in sick.”  
“Mickey, of course it matters. You’re health is very important.”  
“To who?” Mickey climbed off Ian, sitting next to him.  
“To me.” Ian sat up, pulling their blanket over both of them. “It should be to you.”  
“I’ve never been important.” Mickey leaned back against the headboard. “Not as a kid, not as a teen. Not now.”  
“Mickey.” Ian scooted so he had his arms around Mickey. “You don’t really think that, do you?”  
“Wouldn’t you?”  
Ian was quiet. “If I was albino, and raised in my family, no, I don’t think I would.”  
“Yeah.” Mickey brushed off Ian’s arms, stepped out of the bed, and put on a pair of boxers from the floor. They were Ians, which just made Mickey kind of sad. “If you were in my family, you’d understand.”  
“Mickey, we make our own families. And you’re mine.”


	13. SIX YEARS HAVE PASSED AND MICKEY DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH HIS CHILD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long!

Mickey was awoken in the middle of the night by a frantic Ian, beating him over the head with a pillow. Mickey groaned and held his arms up to protect himself, weakly kicking out with his legs and trying to force Ian away from him. Ian just sifted to kneel on the bed, straddling Mickey’s hips.  
“Ian, what the fuck?” Mickey grumbled.  
“Get. The. Fuck. Up!” Ian yelled. “Melissa just called, she’s going into labour!”  
Mickey felt as though a jolt of electricity went through him as he looked up at his husband. “Now?”  
“No, in a couple hours, yes, NOW!” Ian hopped off the bed, pulling Mickey out with him. “Get your clothes on, we need to go!”  
Mickey scrambled to pull on some clothes, tug on his shoes, and run out the door after Ian. He saw their neighbour’s daughter, Lisa Murray, pause at the look of them. It was one in the morning, and they had obviously just crawled out of bed.  
“Is Melissa in labour?” she slurred.  
“Yes!” Ian practically squealed. “We have to go!”  
Mickey unlocked the car, threw the keys to Ian, and got in the passenger seat. He couldn't drive that well at night, with the absence of sufficient light for his eyes. Ian got in after him, almost slamming the keys into the ignition, and pelting down the street.  
“Ian, if we get arrested, I swear to fucking God, I will never suck you off again!” Mickey yelled, gripping tightly to the door. “Slow the fuck down!”  
“Mickey!” Ian yelled back. “Our child is about to be born! You’re the one who gave the sperm, you should be so much more excited!”  
“Why the fuck should either of us be more excited?” Mickey reached out a hand to grab Ian’s forearm, hopping it would calm him down. It just seemed to add to the tension in the air, the blood pumping in their ears. “Ian, we’re both gonna be the fucking fathers, we need to be equally excited!”  
Ian was grinning like a lunatic, cheeks red, green eyes bright. “Mickey, our baby’s gonna be beautiful!”  
“I know!” Mickey couldn’t stop grinning himself.  
After all those years hiding who he really was from the world, after all those years pretending to not be completely head over heels in love with Ian, it was exhilarating to finally be starting a family of his own.  
“Mickey, what if I’m not a good father?” Suddenly the car came to a shuddering halt, stopping dead in the middle of a deserted freeway.  
“Ian!” Mickey scooched around in his seat to look at his husband, the red strands falling over his eyes. “Ian, you’re going to be a good father, now fucking drive!”  
Ian looked like a bolt of lightning had been shot straight up his ass, and he started the car again, going far over the speed limit.   
“Ian,” Mickey said, softer this time. “You’re going to be a great father. You love your siblings, you take care of them. You’ve been caring and loving for far longer than I have. You’ll be fine.”  
“So will you,” Ian said, a little out of breath for some reason. “You’ll be a fine da- oh God, there’s the hospital.”  
They rushed into the parking lot, parked the car haphazardly, and ran into the reception desk.   
“Our surrogate is in labour in here somewhere, can you point us in the right direction?” Mickey asked, watching Ian out of the corner of his eye. Ian seemed about to have a panic attack.   
“Name?” the woman at the desk asked boredly.  
“Melissa Mann,” Mickey said.  
“Room 302, in the maternity wing.”  
“Thank you!”  
They set off running again, shoes making loud slapping noises on the cold tile floor. When they got to the room, they could hear talking, chatting, and Mickey pulled Ian up short.  
“Whoa, there, big guy.” Mickey pushed Ian into one of the shitty plastic hospital chairs outside of the room. “Ian, breath.”  
“I am breathing!” Ian panted.  
“No, Ian, really breath.” Mickey kneeled in front of him, placing his hands on either side of Ian;s face, making him look directly into Mickey’s face. “You need to breath. I know this is overwhelming, but we can do this, okay?”  
Ian nodded, taking in a deep gasp of air. “Okay.”  
“Now, if at any time this is too much for you, we can step out.” Mickey shook his head as Ian started to protest. “No, you listen to me. This could trigger something, okay? A manic phase, or a depressive, so we have to be careful.”  
“If this was going to trigger something, then why’d we think this was a good idea in the first place?” Ian asked, furrowing his brow.  
“Because we’re gonna make badass dads, okay?”  
Ian smiled, his breathing returned to normal, his chest rising and falling in peace. “Let’s go in.”  
They stood, knocked on the door, and waited for a nurse to come.  
“I was wondering when you’d get here!” Melissa shouted when she saw the two men. “I’ve been here for an hour and I haven’t seen my favourite gays!”  
Ian and Mickey laughed, each going to stand on either side of the bed.  
“How ya feeling?” Ian asked, taking on of her hands. Mickey took the other.  
“Oh, like somethings slowly opening me up from the inside, but, hey, after I push this little sucker out,” she shrugged, “then it’s your problem.”  
Mickey laughed, but glanced up at Ian who had gone even paler than normal.  
“But you guys are gonna be great,” Melissa went on, oblivious to the tension in Ian’s shoulders. “I don’t think I could think of better parents.”  
Mickey breathed a sigh of relief, looking over at Ian, who was doing to same. Melissa gasped suddenly, her hold on each hand growing tighter.   
“Okay, that was a bitch,” she panted. “Oh, I think it’s coming!”  
Both Ian and Mickey went pale, waiting for the gush of blood, or the sudden screaming of a baby, but none of that happened. They looked at each other, both massively out of their depth, and just held on tighter to Melissa’s hand.   
Another hour passed, and then the baby was there, screaming and bloody and covered in some strange white goo.  
“Well, that was a remarkable short labour!” one of the nurses said. “Two hours!”  
“That didn’t hurt nearly as much as I thought it would,” Melissa panted. “Wow.”  
“Can… can we see… what sex is it?” Ian asked.  
“It’s a girl,” the nurse said. “Which one of you is the father?”  
Mickey raised his hand, as if he were back in school. “Ah, that would be me.”  
The nurse handed him the small bundle of cloth, in which a small human baby was wrapped. Her little pink face was peaceful, her wispy blonde hair sticking out from under her little hat. She opened her eyes, and Mickey found himself staring at eyes that mirrored his own.  
“How is she?” Ian asked nervously.  
Mickey smiled. “She’s beautiful.”


End file.
